So does your love exceeds the quantum stature of the lingering bubble? 

No but my sex does. 


Perhaps her brown supernova like eyeballs and her soft red panty. 

So tell me a world of intangible creation or her breasts? 

Always her breasts, those quintessential pieces of art make me ascend through a flying stairway. 

You see once in a blue moon I crave for rains and a crumpled blue sea but other than that it’s always her sensuality and perhaps her unabashed sound. 

Then what about your poems? 

They are long gone with that broken beer bottle and the mawning white cat. 

Ok now enough of this shit. Let me get back to my jingles of vanilla dreams.  

Good luck and run away.