Memory white and black

The color of the dexterity does not matter but to feel his warm hug, it does not matter under the alone color of the moon to be sorry to be embraced in the night and the stars, in only feeling be what feeds me the soul, since to love not to need to see a color, only I need to contemplate your natural beauty, which it shakes as piece of very fragile but delicate china, in my ear listened to the violins, which are smoothed by the wind that invades me when I am next to you, only I know that you are like the thought, it does not have alone color they are only of every whom, ere a sleep that in the infinite where the time does not exist, where the passion ends ever, only I want to take your hand to know that you are next to me.