Whose footsteps whisper
Secrets with my floor,
Who comes knocking at my door?
Who’s caressing my desires,
Who slips the lingerie off my feelings,
Who strokes my passion screaming
Louder than a village crier,
Who manifests to all the world
The love that lurks in my apathy?
Who storms the gates of my fantasies,
Who invades the territory of my dreams,
Saddled on my emotions,
Who comes riding my thoughts?
Mystery lover,
So many meadows of majorettes
Where jockeys gallop, racetracks
Of swooning debutantes,
Why have you chosen
To trot on my mind?
Lucked Out!
Love is everything you will not expect, shaping in ways you did not project. Love is late and lazy, often behind, never in time, a bang at the preordained curfew hour, always arriving right on time. It is seldom enough and a tyrant when it is too much. Love is kind of...

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