Made by the skeleton a man's rib,
a lady is bother and re-bother.
I hear the voice hooves on the sky
and we will therefore close the desire in the imagination,
For these are the reality in which we are going.
She dream of body  smooth and smelly
that only times in me sometimes.
She forget the days and times.
Isn’t the poetry deep in my heart
a haunted dreams ?
the framework I find in my wish I realize.
Sometimes the love grows fantastic.
Serene, but maybe of swishing,
more the pespiration of taste.
My heart a coat of armor to live on.
There is a moment we think of an desire.
If we compose a love,
it frequently happens that angel has  two wing.
The sudden entire sky hospitable for us.
It is much better.
This is why a poem belongs to a lady.
You grow memories, later proof of these
weightless understanding we need.
There are poems in which the poet dreams as follows:
You I fall in to the only future live, an happiness
love in which each of us encloses a make swishing
no ordinary love
we shall make live from the wedlock
that make us live again and again
we see it now, here our e-letter,
here you are and there I am
a heart inside me
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