I have no lips, but I must kiss.

Not the wiskey, something better.

Like a pattern of faded colors on clothes, like blue tint from the sun light, and lakes that seem to shink, as a man thinks, war turns the second hand, for the third time, and on the forth a bell tolls.

We yearn for different islands, yet together in a palm tree we live like flightless birds that can not sing!

Her wind was visable and travelled over the hills of sorrow, a ghost like green glow, she had no body to show, but she shined bright in the sky, cruising with the little dipper, dripping ooze and stuff.

Panting on a pile of pillow, she had her way at last, finally concluded, the past was in the past.

Once upon a Paris, while I wander weak and lonely, I found a cafe for the losers, and sitting with my latte I gazed at some random face, relaxed and eating luxury, the night stars were coming, wishing me years of drunken sorrow.

Bring in the kittens!

I see magic!