Ah, the name like of the lovers. How beautiful and powerful.
I shall confess to you that in my lifelong journey, I have found no other graceful creation than the constellation of a woman… the installment in every part is indeed an architecture of beauty.
Now I’d like to beseech you to only glance momentously on these writings as the way it is… let us say—a painting in a surrealism landscape. Perhaps, somewhat unseen, perhaps… for somewhat reason.
Walk through this way, and you’ll see what it means.
Again and again I’d like to privately humor myself with my tingling curiosity for maja… the suffocating desire that resurface itself from a very certain folksong that was deliberately planted (now, that I remember), is, by one’s own will. (…was it not?)
Still, nothing felt alive out of this pen.
And of course, there it goes again… The borealis curve strands high, a remarkable embodiment of cheeky pattern up there which actually employ forth a fold of just another fold of many, many other folds of… (well, cynically, it’s pleasingly enigmatic…!)
But even so, please… do, seize me into your whispers… do, recess me subtly… very, very softly… yes—into the dual-pleasures.
You deform my laughing stanza