There's no use for cryin'.
Only while listening to Boccherini in the bath. Or the car. In bed. By mere thought of chord. I want to learn to say "I love this" in every language of the world. Genuine; like a heartbeat. Oxygen. Raw, tender passion. This is what I want. The divine yet essential human desire.
Say it.
"J'aime cette."
I watched the beads of sweat, of water, evaporate or drip down from the nape of your neck, to the small of your back. The candles heat along with steam sensationalized each tiny pearl, rolling off your body.
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