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I want to wake up In deepest at three o'clock, Inside the cold room With the sound of your breath in gnome. A face in serene Saving mine from the gaslighting. Empty yet ornery, I found you in serendipity.
A kind of haimish, You wrap this misfit, hushed, and fetish. You are a big cheese, Truly amazeballs making me peckish. Inside of our box, Inseparable smells and hugs, But yours is my favorite In disparately desperate.
You are a kind of breather. I am a philocalist living from your shoulder. Your upper lip and armpit, Where lights are asleep and out of grip. Then I wake you up, Kissing your neck with a baby slap. We stare and gaze into the divine, Seeing you as an alluring paragon of mine.
The night's becoming friendly, Accompanied by the winds of clingy, Dancing with the curtain, Psithurism in an open window pane. Walking our hearts out From our comfort zone and en route To the stars and balcony, Right soul path a synchronicity.
Eunoia's luciform and nyctophilia, Noceurs' sleepless night in euphoria. We sat down with thoughts, I gape into the words your mouth brought. By hook or crook, You spoke like a book. Maybe at the same time, We eat our hearts in frozen time.
Fries, pizzas, and nuggets With some doughnuts or biscuits. While gazing to learn and burn, I'm drinking you with my eyes in stubborn. Holding you like a cup of coffee Or sniffing you as vanilla or tea. A milk, fondue, or chocolate. Lighting you up and smoking like a cigarette.
The night sky and the moon Was made for us to gloom and bloom. After that, we're heading back With exquisite feelings to take a nap. We lay in venerate knot Rhymingly written on the bed of papers as the sonnet. I breathe you out of the woods, Inhales like the ligneous smell of goods.
Your calm heartbeats in silence, Cuddling with your fingertips and hands. I have your arm as my pillow, Blanketing you up like cozy snow. As we walk and dream, In a yellow scene and bewildering theme. Dawn's carrying the daylight, Still falling like stars albeit afraid in height.
Deteriorating the mind, Anhedonia with the eyes of the blind. I'm not a morning person To work with the sun and stone. An alarm clock's iron-fisted, The first thing you kill in bed. But it's time to rise and read, Because that's just a dream indeed.
