These are sunkissed days now. like the eponymous oranges of the same name, benign in temper, mild in presence, languid and moody, sweet in nature, but piquantly surprising. There is a sense of beatitude, no. has churned my faith to belief, accidentally of course, but there has been a coincidence with my rediscovery of a world of an outside more various and wide. not fatally interesting as I was becoming in myself in a phase of retreat.
Then I will love you
And you’ll not be conscious of it
Beneath the table I wont hold your hand
Or run my toe up your calf
When the light of day
Is like the breeze of the sea
I’ll not gaze into your eyes
With you I’ll be drugged to sleep

Ps-
Such feudal decadence in the muted sun, should not be wasted in reverie and grandiloquence. That’s it.