Doing some re-reading of old entries.
And some google poetry:
Love, gently like simple chair. If you extend the wings which as a butterfly is so not easily assignable, than the sky of night and in heady the meat of the desire with all drinking as dark as him umgibt, and we dream.
If I think of you, I feel the discovery itself which is however for your note, longing, hesitatnt, because I do not think that you believe in the same desire of me as me for you.