Nevertheless, everytime I went to the Café, whether for habit or self-piety, something always crossed my funambulist mind: a sooty thought that sprouts everytime I pass over the portal of that flavourful harem. An unspeakable mythology rules those half-brothel half-cathedral, holy whory places. At that day, I absorbed the black liquid while my reflection on the large cup of coffee could be seen. However, something started to disturb the eucharistic action that made me more human day by day. As my lips touched the reflected lips, I sucked up the bitterness from that chalice, supplicating for one more day inside myself. Since then I haven't had any reply: my kiss could no longer transmute my soul into ancient flower's scent. 
Blame on that kiss I saw, so different from the quotidian one I used to give at such harem where I met myself: it was there where, as I saw my misery kissing with rather acrimony, I swore to the kissed image to release it at once from that unhappy prostitute life — when at last I could share with it its less telluric part.....(Psychically received from Abobran Yielkis in Oct 7th 2003)
hiding them from the chilly wind also from pedestrian glances. There I counted one by one my innumerable sins in pentameric rosaries, manipulating virtual castanets of anguish.
my pagan prayers ceased when I saw that kiss: a couple, her to the bus, him to the trafic's tail; under the ephemeral roof of that bus stop, they hugged and kissed and couldn't see anything. The girl had her arm out in the air, 
as if she wanted to seize upon everything in her thoughts at that moment. Thus she made the bus stop and catch her beloved to take him away, leaving her somewhere else....
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