Every instinct hankers after possession.
Instinct is like desire, desire that dries your power and makes you breathe it while sleeping.
I scream that I love you and like a response i get a smile and two questions: what else i have excluding your words? How can we trust you?
You have my heart crushed and full of love.
Love that flows, heart that knows no other senses, heart that does not want anything to touch, to love, know, to discover.
Better i die lying on nothing certainly then on something unsure.
I cheris and keep this love and if it happens the ship to depart from these places filled with love, well, i gain exceedingly courage, i clench soundly with my teeth, i open my eyes, grab the steering with hope- I will overcome the impasse with the risk of crushing the rest of my morality.
Woe, to the woman who will wean her art, the art of grace, art to dispel concerns, art of relief, consolation, art of love, woe, to her when she become independent and will want solitude. Then will lose her woman name who means only but half man, which involves obedience, devotion, care, love...woe, of that woman who wont fight with the instruments of what involves her name to live, to live with her half.
I need that my woman devotion to propagate in something that requires 100% dedication and that "something" it is YOU!
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