The blossoms Of Night Dreams

I can touch the darkness, the light, the flame, the desire to dance under the chandelier, naked, free from all disturbance.
The sound of classical music, Chopin, runs through my blood, wild, awake, yet drunk on the rhythm of the branches of an oak tree tapping at the window.
I feel nothing but the taste of sweet pleasures, the temptations of the night, and the openness of my body beneath a warm summer sky.
The breeze, a gentle breeze, touches my skin, settles on my shoulders, whispers words of comfort, yet carries the cruel demand of love around the empty bedroom. 
So lonely, yet full of the blossoms of night dreams. So fiery, yet calm under the wing of the moon, flying up on the shadows of sleepy stars. His hands, eager for passion, are lost among the curves of a moist feminine land, from spring cherry blossoms to the deep will of generosity, enriched by the stream of forgiveness.