The heat melts the afternoon, sinking into orange cream
    that hatches an orb of gleaming spores,
  quietly brimming the neat gloom, a rosy dream,
as in the grass the crickets whisper and the frogs snore.

  We walk through brief breezes, yet my heart stays warm.
There's kind of magic either in your blinks or in your smiles.
    My lips shut and part in quick glancing twinkles,
    And your voice spins and dances. A story is born.

        It is swelling in our casual touches,
        which embodies some unspoken expectations,
    and it is growing in our deceptive politeness,
thousands of naughty kisses in the disguise  of foolish questions.

    Constant giggles drive the tempting air more seducing
        and the innocent expressions more convincing.
      Once either of the two makes positive intentions,
    the other's to reassure it with gently throwing arms.

    And the sky refreshes itself with breaking rays of light,
    revealing the dusty faces veiled by the cape of the night.
      Wondered, I, as any of the two, caress your cheeks
    and find it in your eyes, which is mirrored from mine

      -- a simple glittering image that we all desire.