Café Maya

~The Dance~

euphony playlist, Song from the patio of the Café Maya :

~ At conclusion - Etta James

~Come Away With Me - Norah Casey Jones

~You're Only Lonely - JD south wind

~The Way You Look Tonight - Michael Bublé

~I'm Gon na Love You Like I'm Gon na Lose You - Meghan Trainor

~Smoke Gets In Your Eyes - The disc

~Put Your Head On My articulatio humeri - Paul Anka

~If You Don't Know Me By Now - Simply Red

~Wicked Game - Chris Isaak

He stood in the doorway from the street away. There were tabular array on the walk outside, of course, it was a café after all. And, while there were a few multitude here and there, couples mostly, the one someone he was looking for was not among them. So, indoors he went. Stepping inside he had to intermit to let his eyes adjust to the turn down lighting, even though the sun was heading toward the horizon outside as it would soon be setting.

This was not his first misstep here, to the Café Maya. It would seem he had been coming here for quite some clip, more often over the past times twelvemonth or so however. No, The Café Maya was quite intimate to him. You see, he, Floyd had created this Café. fountainhead, he and others like him who frequented this situation. It was a exceptional shoes. It only existed here in the diethyl ether of this land of illusion and illusion. Born of imagination, peculiarity, desire and longing, the Café Mayan was where dreaming took configuration and became veridical, even if only for brief periods of metre.

Illusion, and fantasy, dream in early run-in. Waking dreams, perhaps, but fueled by desires and yearning of the center and imagination. In this place, the rattling man took a step back and this illusion became very real indeed. It was a plaza where like-minded people could fit and coexist in somebody as it were, for a time. Like all dreams, however, the clock time here in the Café Maya always cut abruptly when the real humankind again reclaimed the creative thinker and attention of those visiting here. But it was here that they all would return to sentence and time again, to rejoin in that illusion that filled a void that many didn't fully realize until they found this situation.

Floyd, took off his jacket and held it up in front line of himself to look at it. A sparkle, nicely styled dinner cap, a little sporty perhaps, but still evening gown enough for near nicer eatery clothes requirements. He shook his head in wry amusement as he wondered when he had imagined himself wearing a jacket in the 1st place as he was not one to primp up for much of anything. He folded it over one arm and looked about for a coat check. There, in an alcove by the room access was a young girlfriend smiling at him as she gave him a call ticket and took his jacket to hang up until he was cook to leave.

As he slipped the ticket into his sack, he noticed, again with amusement, that he was not wearing his usually preferred dungaree, but rather a nice twosome of slacks. The silk button down shirt was lightweight and well-fixed as were the stylish layabout on his ft. Now he knew that somebody else had had a hand in his appearance. The thaumaturgy of Café Maya it would appear. While each mortal has their own imaginativeness to draw off from for themselves, it also affected others here as well. Essentially, we helped each early create the illusion ... or world ... that we shared here.

Once more Floyd looked around the interior of the café. If he was dressed this way, she must be here somewhere. As his middle had adjusted to the lower Christ Within, he began to beak out faces here and there. Again, there were couples and even threes and quatern at some tables engaged in conversations, and other things. As to be expected, some were engaged in rather passionate telephone exchange of whispered intimacies or kissing.

The light breeze from the sea carried through the open room access from the patio, causing the linen on the tabular array to dart at their edges. On the breeze was, of track, the salty air from the ocean, along with the odour of the flower beds on the patio. Roses, Magnolias, Hibiscus, Jasmine ... and ... Lilies. It was the latter that led Floyd to manoeuvre out onto the patio, following the scent in Bob Hope of finding ... her.

Floyd stepped through the doorway to the patio, momentarily blinded by the a good deal brighter lighting than the interior of the Café. He paused just through the door to let his centre adjust. There was a song playing over the audio system, a fellow melody, one that he felt was hauntingly companion but that he couldn't identify right field away. It was an instrumental version and it was winding down, the final stage few bar playing out as he looked around the terrace. Then he spotted her.

She was standing at the boundary of the patio facing the beach. A few strands of her lovely darkness hair lifting on the breeze blowing in from the ocean. In her hands she held a undivided lily near her nose as if she had just been smelling it. The soft flower petal brushing her nerve as she gazed out at the surf. She must induce sensed that she was being observed however. As the side by side Sung began to play over the sound organization,"At Last"by Eta Saint James the Apostle, Shobha turned and saw Floyd.

Her placid lovely aspect broke into a timid smile when she realized who it was. To Floyd it was if the sun had come out from behind the clouds. The song's lyric were oh so touching, and fitting he thought. Somehow, he managed to walk across the terrace instead of running. Never once taking his optic off of her as he approached.

Shobha had arrived early today. She thanked whatever luck or fortune that had allowed it because it gave her a picayune supererogatory time to sort out through her opinion. At first base, she had sat at a table inside, but nerves or perhaps nervous energy had gotten the better of her, so she came out here on the patio. Maybe it was the amalgamate smell of the flowers and the salty air from the ocean piece of cake that drew her. The music that was playing was both soothing and ... made her think.

She had been doing a lot of thinking lately. She so very dearly missed her previous married man. She knew in her pith of hearts that she would never find another like him. But she still longed for meaningful company and yes, some excitement as well. She was still a Lester Willis Young woman at heart. She needed to be appreciated, to be wanted and maybe even loved. She had felt all of that with her new friend. Somehow, he understood how she felt and what she wanted. He too seemed to be looking for something, like she was. She knew that Floyd was hopelessly in love with his wife and didn't need a substitute any to a greater extent than Shobha herself needed a second-stringer for her late husband.

What they both needed was a Quaker. mortal to share those feelings of longing and desire with here in this freeze world that they have created together. Shobha knew that she had a vivid imagination, and it seemed as if Floyd had an amazing resource as well. This very café was his approximation, but he had asked for her avail in making it more real. A place they could forgather and be together if for forgetful full point of metre.

Looking around, Shobha marveled at the detail that truly brought this situation to life. Even the feel of caryopsis of sand on top of the pavers on the terrace that she could palpate grinding and scrunching under foundation when she moved about. The sound of the breakers and waves washing onto the sand of the beach that she was looking out at a instant ago. The low mumble of voices in conversation about the patio and inside the café. The sound of ice in deoxyephedrine and silverware and plates from citizenry eating. And, the music.

She thought it was interesting how the lyrics of the birdsong often reflected her own mentation and intuitive feeling. Perhaps they were Floyd's thoughts and tactile sensation, since she was not the one to think of the music. A new vocal had begun to play on the music system. An old classic By Eta Saint James,"At last-place ”, when Shobha could sense optic upon her. Somehow, she knew it was Floyd, he had arrived, like the call ... At shoemaker's last. She turned to attempt him out.

There, just outside the door to the DoI of the café, he stood looking at her from across the patio. His almost unsure smile warmed her heart and gave her a confidential short shudder. The warmheartedness in his eyes as he drank in her appearance made her tactile property butterflies in her stomach. He looked just as she had imagined he would. Dressed in a button-down long-sleeved silk shirt, nice slacks and stylish yet comfortable skid. Of course, he looked to be dressed this way, it was her mental imagery at play now. Her creative contribution to their haven on the internet, her imagination had dressed him this way. But it did not seduce her feeling excited to see him, that was something else.

Floyd came to a stop in presence of Shobha. So very near, almost toe to toe, he looked down slightly into her bright retrousse face, her nervous almost shy grinning letting him know that she was happy to see him. They both stood motionless as Etta belted out her song over the speaker around the patio. Gazing into one another's eyes again. Both finding mutual excitement and anticipation in the other's eyes.

"wealthy person you been waiting long ?"Floyd asked almost apologetically.

"No, not long. I got here a little early to see all this beautiful creation. It is so ... so real."Shobha almost gushed, her hands held out as if showing Floyd what she was talking about.

"It wasn't all my doing."He admitted."I think a expectant deal of it is from your imagination. The flowers for lesson. I had imagined only something simple like Jasmine. But You like roses and Lilies."Floyd said motioning to the lone lily that Shobha still held lightly in her deal.

"I wasn't even aware that I had imagined it."Shobha said with a smile and glanced at the lily in her hand thoughtfully for a moment.

"It's beautiful ... like you."Floyd said with that warm grinning again as he reached out and touched her hand holding the peak, and leaned in to take a delicate sniff of its fragrance.

Shobha watched as Floyd's eyes closed for a consequence as he sniffed the flower, his grin never faltering. Instead, if anything, his smile grew liberal and he sighed when he exhaled before straightening back up and opening his eyes to expect at her once more. Just then a new song began to play ... Shobha noticed that other couples were now standing and stepping out onto the patio, pairing up to dance. She looked back to Floyd.

The perfume of the lily was almost heavenly, but it still paled in equivalence to the womanhood holding that flower. Was it his imagination, or hers, that supplied the olfactory property of her perfume. It was light, floral, and enticing. He wanted to smell to a greater extent of it. I wanted to be closer to this beautiful fair sex. Those thoughts flashed through is mind even as a new song began to recreate over the music organisation. He recognized the tune, and the Isaac Bashevis Singer. This was perfect, and better still, it was a wondrous song to which to dance.

Floyd extended his right hand politely and looked Shobha in her lovely brown optic and asked her."Would you like to dance ?"The opening strains of"come Away With Me"by Norah Mother Jones soothing his own nerves.

Shobha was a little hesitant, again. It had been so recollective since anyone had asked her to dance. Did she still commemorate how ? Would she hinder herself if she tried ? So many inquiry, it caused her to waver. She chewed her bottom lip for just a consequence before she threw caution to the wind instrument and nodded her head and extended her own deal to Floyd in adoption.

Floyd and Shobha stepped closer to one another. Floyd taking her right hand in his left. Shobha rested her left mitt on Floyd's ripe shoulder as his right hand rested lightly on her pull up stakes hip. They began to sway and their feet slid lightly across the pavers underfoot, in time to the music. As the song went on, their eubstance pressed closer and nearer to one another. Shobha could find the firmness of purpose of Floyd's pectus through his silk shirt. The warmth was electric, it caused her to shiver slightly with delectation. Her own physical structure heat rising along with her excitement. She suddenly became self-consciously aware that her own stimulation was causing her nipple to temper beneath her clothes as they were pressed into Floyd's chest as they danced closely.

Both seemed to relax into the motion of the dancing, and into each former as they held one another close. It was a look of affectionateness and impropriety that both had missed for their own reasons for too retentive. Shobha drew back just a bit to attend up into Floyd's optic only to find him gazing openly back into her own. The cushy grinning on his cheek told her that he was enjoying his time with her as much as she was being with him in this wonderful post.

The song wound down to a conclusion and the dancers on the patio paused, some exiting to their tables, others lingered for the future song. Floyd and Shobha had stopped dancing of course, with no music, but they stayed holding one another finale, though they did sort out just a bit in modestness as they eyed one another with almost sheepish smiles. They didn't have prison term to begin any conversation however, as the sound organisation was soon alert with yet another song to dance to.

The next song * * * * * * * * * * * ion by the resident D.J. was a little resilient than the live on, but still sedate enough to be considered good for slow saltation."You're Only Lonely"by J.D. souther opened with the strumming of guitars in a regular recurrence and pace that just begged one's feet to run. And if one were holding someone special close, it was all the substantially. The smile on Shobha's face was radiant. It appeared to Floyd that she too agreed with that belief.

"Did you choose this Sung, and the others ?"Shobha asked quietly, with an almost fainthearted voice.

"I did."Floyd admitted, then asked."Do you not like it ?"

"Oh, it's wonderful and a decent song to dance to. But it's almost as if you are trying to say something through the unlike Sung dynasty you've chosen."She said, as if leading Floyd to flesh out more.

"Perhaps ... They do tell a story, or paint a photo, don't they ?"He asked with a smile.

"It sounds as if they are describing me, or you possibly."Shobha said thoughtfully

"Or maybe the song writers were merely describing their own tactile sensation and thoughts that are similar to our own ?"Floyd said questioningly.

"wellspring, whichever it may be, they fit the mood very well, do they not ?"Shobha stated and looked up into Floyd's heart again with a warm grin and chewed the street corner of her bottom of the inning lip.

Floyd groaned silently as this was a look that many charwoman in his past had given him and it always meant that the Lady giving it was both excited and maybe a minuscule anxious. anxious, but wanting to go further, he corrected himself. Shobha seemed to press herself even closer to him as they continued to dance and sway to the music. Their feet gliding effortlessly in sync across the terrace, the George Sand grinding beneath their foundation atop the pavers.

As the Song wound down to a last, More professional dancer left the terrace. The sun had lowered on the apparent horizon, and as the sky grew darker, someone turned on some electric fairy lights that were strung over the terrace giving the dancer some soft firing with which to see one another. Floyd noted that the lights reflected in Shobha's center as she gazed up into his own. It was magical.

Shobha and Floyd paused their dance, standing still holding one another close. Perhaps neither wanting the eve to end so soon. Floyd was about to indicate that they have a seat and edict a beverage, but a new call began to playact. He could feel Shobha's dead body begin to persuade in sentence with the music so he didn't even bother asking her if she wanted to continue dancing. She clearly did, as did he. So, they danced to Michael Buble's rendering of"The Way You Look Tonight."

Again, for a slow dance strain, this one was a little faster tempo than well-nigh, but it was still dance-able and it too seemed to describe their emotions and feelings in the lyrics of the song. There was a tactual sensation of ataraxis as the two smoothly moved about the patio in prison term to the medicine. Their soundbox melding together as the swayed and held each former close.

There seemed to be a growing connexion between them, emotionally. Their essence were opening up to the hypothesis that in one another they had found some lowly measure of savvy and recognition of desire. This illusion, this suspend reality was growing on them, becoming to a greater extent and more real with each passing moment. This clock time as the vocal wound down to its completion, they never stopped dancing. They continued to concur one another closely as if savoring the human pinch and togetherness.

The next Song dynasty up began to play. The tempo was decidedly slower and nearly matched their trice. As the singer began to babble out, the lyrics again took on a haunting character as Shobha and Floyd both felt as if their thoughts were being sang aloud by Meghan Trainor singing"I'm Gon na Love You Like I'm Gon na Lose You."

Shobha shifted her mightily hand, unclasping it from Floyd's left hired hand and brought both of her hands to the spine of Floyd's neck. Floyd let is now rid hand make up on Shobha's right hip. Now both hands were on her hip at her waist. This was oh so dangerously inner. This finish, their physical structure priming coat against one another. Shobha's titty and abdomen pressing against Floyd's bureau and torso. He had been conscious for some prison term of the growing bulge in his falloff. He was sealed that Shobha could feel it as well, but she had not commented on it as of yet. Was she embarrassed ? Was she excited ? Maybe a little of both ?

"Am I ? Shobha asked one-half way through the song.

"Are you what ?"Floyd queried in answer, not understanding her question.

"Going to lose you. Like the song says."She elaborated.

Floyd remained placidity for a few steps as he thought about it and they continued dancing. He then brought his right hand up to Shobha's delicate chin and with his fingerbreadth, gently raised her face to look at him in the middle again.

"I only have partial say in that ... whether you and I lose one another. This has never been one sided, has it ? Everything we've talked about and take shared has been for and by both of us. So, no. I think you won't lose me without your decision to end this experiment of ours. Either of us may deepen our mind at some point. Perhaps the song is telling us to cherish the moment. To get it on one another like we are afraid that we will lose one another."Floyd stated, never once faltering in his step as they danced on.

Once more the song they were dancing to ended and there was another pause before the side by side song began to take on. Instead of separating, even pulling apart to await into one another's eyes, Shobha pulled herself even pie-eyed to Floyd's chest. Her arms around his neck opening and shoulders squeezed him tightly. Floyd feeling this, delighted in the sensation of someone wanting him so very much physically, let his hands slip from her pelvic arch and wrapping around to hold the small of her back and draw Shobha ever tighter to himself as well. Shobha sighed contentedly, a mute thank you for the philia that she felt being returned by this man in her arms.

An old classic, amorous song began to play, a short tune, but one that touched nervus that both were baring to the other. The haunting melody for"Smoke Gets In Your Eyes"by the Platters came from the speakers around the dance floor on the patio. They were soon joined by former couples who were holding each other as closely as Floyd and Shobha. Floyd felt Shobha sigh again, her warm breath escaping her back talk so close to his neck, it gave him goosebumps and he shivered slightly at the intimate sensation.

It was a short song but it was soon followed by yet another old favorite for fan and slow dance. Reaching way back, the D.J. played"Put Your Head On My Shoulder"by Alice Paul Anka. The old Doo Wop romance Song had them swaying and feeling dreamy in time with the beat. Like the strain suggested, Shobha lay her head on Floyd's shoulder as they continued to rock and impress with the beat. Floyd leaned his own fountainhead over to breathe against Shobha's, his nose once again filling with the scent of her haircloth and whatever perfume she had put on. It was magical in and of itself. He was truly in the moment, swept away with her warmness and beauty.

The sun had edged closer to the skyline as they had been dancing. It was a spectacular and colorful visual sense as the sun began to dip into the sea. The sky was alight as if it were on fire, the coloring material ranging from hopeful favorable yellowness to reds that resembled embers of a dying firing. There was a flavour of clock time slipping away, once more. The short strain only reinforced that feeling of fleeting opportunity. The next song up on the D.J.'s playlist also seemed to echo those thoughts. A obtuse toon, almost somber in tincture and cadence."If You Don't Know Me By Now"by Simply Red.

It was lovely euphony to dance to, and dancing with each former, holding one another stopping point. Feeling the excitement and sexual latent hostility between them only made the song and the terpsichore all the more cozy indeed. Their faces were brass to cheek as they swayed to the medicine. Turning only slightly brought them cheek to aspect and their backtalk brushed lightly together in a soft breathless buss. The gentle touch of their lips sent signals of wanton desire through both of their dead body and their eyes one-half closed as if barely awake. But awake they were.

When the strain ended, they finally stopped dancing and simply stood in spot, lip touching lips as the kiss grew in intensity and fervour. They pulled apart just far plenty to vary the sides that their noses were on before reengaging and parting for their natural language to cope with and begin to trip the light fantastic toe. Floyd felt Shobha's fingers running through the hair on the rear of his school principal. His own hands had drifted up her sides to just under her limb as he gently squeezed her as if trying to eviscerate the candy kiss even closer to him.

He could feel her chest revolt and falling with each excited breath, and even her heart whipping within. Floyd was sure enough that Shobha, too, could experience his own heart beating in his chest as she was so close to him as to nearly be a second hide ... her tit pressed tightly to his own chest. As shake as it was, both knew that time was short and their visit would soon come to an end ... for this evening. The keening of sea patsy drew both of their tending towards the beach for a minute. Both lost in their own thoughts for a few bit. When the next song began to work on the sound system,"Wicked game"by Chris Isaak, Floyd looked into Shobha's eyes and spoke.

"I know this song. Did you have this birdcall in psyche ? Or did my subconscious supply it ?"

The puzzled expression in Shobha's oculus told him her answer without her even speaking. His mettle ached with a sudden annoyance of melancholy. This vocal was oh so poignant and de * * * * * * * * * * * ive for their shared situation. Meeting this way and ... touch sensation for one another as they did. He smiled, however, and took Shobha's helping hand in his and precede her to the exit from the patio out onto the Sand of the beach. Pausing for a moment to kick off his shoes, and Shobha followed his lead, and took off her own place. Letting their bare toes and feet be warmed by the sand.

Hand in paw they strolled through the sand to the surf and then turned to take the air along the beach at the piddle's edge, getting their feet wet from time to time. Each carried their horseshoe in one hired man, but were joined at the hip, handwriting in script. Shobha leaned into Floyd and he relished the closeness of her torso against his own. The song played on in the distance behind them on the patio of Café Maya. The sound of the surf and the wave gently rolling in to the beach accompanying the medicine.

At one point they both sensed the need to lay off and turned to face up one another fully. Words weren't requirement, the look in each other's eyes spoke volumes that quarrel would only obscure. They leaned in and kissed again, momentarily perhaps yielding to their growing passions and forgetting the words of the Sung dynasty that was winding down ... about not wanting to fall in love.

Would that be such a bad thing. To fall in love with someone who felt the same desires and yearning as they did ? Couldn't one sexual love more than than just one other individual. Shobha with her tardily husband, and Floyd with his wife. They both knew that the other was committed and couldn't'be swayed from that love ... but to be able to love another ? Perhaps not to the Saami degree, but just as literal ... as real as their illusion and suspended reality here anyway.

brim embraced and caressing, tongues dancing and tasting one another. Their shoe hit the sand as their hands freed themselves to explore this other person's consistency that was so energise and new and for the moment anyway, so very real. Floyd's hands went to Shobha's waist and held her for a minute, then ventured around her sides to make out to rest on the high reach of Shobha's backside. Her womanly figure cried out to be worshiped and touched, at least in Floyd's mind.

Shobha's hands ventured up Floyd's body her hands running over his abdomen and flat along his pectus between them. One hand pausing near his shoulder and the other continuing up to cup the side of his face, her ribbon on his boldness as they continued to snog passionately. Who began to gasp and groan softly first could have been debated, had anyone else been around to listen it. But for this bit, they were alone. It was if the rest of the humankind had vanished. Their reality condensed to just a few public square metre at the edge of the sea, in the wet grit and breakers on this imagined beach.

Floyd's hands slither lower still, softly but insistently gripping her cheeks, one in each hired man, lifting Shobha slightly, pulling her closer still into his body. Shobha's hand left his nerve and moved once more to the backrest of Floyd's head, as if the anchor herself to him. Her former hand grew sheer and ventured back down his chest to his waistline before pausing. Perhaps she was having second thoughts or momentary incertitude, before it began to travel again. Downward slowly, along the front of Floyd's slacks her script, laurel wreath flat against the material of his pants, felt the jut that lay inside under the cloth. She inhaled sharply at her own boldness perhaps.

Shobha was not the only one to inhale sharply, almost gasped in fact. Floyd felt Shobha's hand rubbing lightly on the strawman of his bloomers and his rear manhood within. It didn't feel as if she were trying to initiate something more ... physical ... but that she was letting her oddment relinquish to search the possibilities. Just as he himself had thought of with is own hands gripping and squeezing her backside. Floyd couldn't, however, keep on his body from reacting to her touch even as tentative as it might induce been. His hips rolled slightly and pressed into her manus that was between them.

Floyd's reaction caused Shobha to puff again softly as she realized that she had caused that reaction. There was some small-scale part of her that was nearly enraptured about that, that she could give birth that effect on a man. Her confidence soared to new heights and her feminine ego seemed to turn by just a little measure as well. It was exciting on so many levels.

Their faces pulled apart slightly as they broke the candy kiss. optic searched optic. Black Maria raced and they were both nearly panting as they caught their breath. The sun finally dipped below the horizon and the Christ Within faded to nearly darkness. Yet their oculus shined brightly with desire and wonderment at this discovery. A feeling of anticipation was tangible for both of them. Even as Floyd released his hold on Shobha's fanny and she met his hands at her hips with both of her own. They interlocked their fingerbreadth and held them lightly.

The sound of the surf and the gulls overhead seemed to fade slightly. Oddly, the sound of their heartbeats in their own ears got louder. A flavour of ... not quite regret, but a little sadness came over both of them as they searched for answers in each other's heart yet again.

"Shobha ... I ..."Floyd began, stumbling verbally as he searched for the words for the feelings he wished to express."I ... Thank you. Thank you for showing me that this could even be."He finally spoke.

"It is I who should be thanking you, perhaps."Shobha nearly whispered. Before continuing."Thank you for trusting me. I feel so happy to experience met someone I can feel prophylactic with, to express and part my touch and desires with. Even if it is but here in this partake in space that we've created. I almost don't want to leave."She said with a saddened smile.

"I know what you mean. This spot is ... wizardly. And you. You are like a genie in the bottle. You are wizard incarnate. I could dance with you every night, and I am not usually a dancer at all. I hope ... I hope we can do this again ... sometime ?"Floyd asked awkwardly, hoping against Leslie Townes Hope that Shobha would grant him this wish.

"I would love to, do this again. And, perhaps ... even more ?"Shobha responded hopefully.

Floyd could read between the line, he too could feel the hullabaloo and prevision of boost geographic expedition of the possibleness of what they could share going forward. He smiled but his voice was choked for the moment so he brought Shobha's decent bridge player to his lip and kissed the back of her fingers delicately. Finding his voice, he began to speak ... but the auditory sensation of a telephone set ringing in the space distracted him. Half turning his straits, he broke eye contact with Shobha and the ringing grew much louder ...

Suddenly Floyd found himself with his entrust hand in nominal head of his face, sitting at his desk in strawman of his estimator. The earphone beside his pc was ringing. He had to flash a few times before he realized that he was back ... back in the mundane reality of the tangible humanity. Yet despite the ringing of the telephone beside him, he could faintly hear the strains of the final stage song they had heard from the Café ... Wicked Game. ~I never dreamed I'd love somebody ... like you ... I never dreamed that I'd lose soul like you ... No, I want to fall down in making love ... No, I want to precipitate in love ... With you ... With you ... ~

-To be continued-