She, always hiding behind trees, like butterflies in August, delicate and colorful, and I can see through - the net of course.
I get some smiles and she flies back in flirty irony, always to close but never close enough. As always I could feel your breath but never your sweat. Because to tell the truth, there are all these rules written between the lines, and hide and seek we must analyze, find the patterns an summarize the numbers in eloquence. trying to find the answer of why?
Always a nice time but never a significant one, looking for catharsis in mischievous smiles.
As quick as a bat - they all fly, ideas, emotions, delusions and deals made to the femenine side of the succubi kind, walkyries if you like. Barehanded they can all rip a heart aside from the torax, and never keeping in mind that the wound is mortal, they smile. She, sneaks in silence, and though I know she is behind me I never can quite see her smile.