Monopolizes the image. Installed thought. They are not aware of hours and priorities. The tasks, abandoned, are waiting for their turn. They rule your breath. Inhale - exhale. A libation to your guardian angel.
She talks to you and you hear music. She caresses you without touching. Her words are waving in your eyes. Simple. Cliché. Looking new, though. They are her own.
The absolute time machine. Love. It takes you to your teens. Without any taboos you dive in the miracle. Again and again.

They are born baptized by grace. A simple flick. A slight change. Locks your eyes. You are mystified to find the answers so easily. A dose of the miracle of creation. Blonde, brunette, redhead. Any colour. You confirm the reason why you are here. Without human laws to describe copiers.
Suffice she is close. She turns off time. You don't waste. Like a fairy tale. Your own Princess.
You breathe joy. You are filled by its oxygen. You leave your lips free to form lines on your face. A moment. A dusk.
You reduce the distance. You think. You are looking for the next moment. You watch out. A fragile world. Her own. You want to be there.