Withinthe flutteringsof thoughts,Magic rears its headaccompaniedby the soundsof the symphony,Beethovenian,Full of scentsperfumedin the movements,that, rise and fallsighedbeneath the breathof silk,within theirromance...It is the symphonyof thoughtscrystalline,that finely bestowdreams,when they sleep restingon the pillow of meadows,to reweavethe complete magic,of playful lust,repeated,laid out to the twilightof morning,in the madnessunbelievablenear the babblingsdistracted, adolescent...Meanwhilenear,the dampness of the nest,dreamingof passions,in the complete magic,within the wetflowsof the virginal spring,in the depthof the girlish vaginaof caresses,that touch the intoxicationsso sweetof the spiritual symphony,where angels, chimealongside the pleasuresbursting,in ecstasy...Meanwhile,like passengers of the crushingof sorrows,they ignite again,in the majesticwarmthof magic,beneath the royalmovements,within the feelingsof lust,of the masterpiecefeminine.Where, afterwards,they dancewondrously,withinthe white sheets,crumpledwithin the dampnessof passion, inthe enamored lusts,strolling in the forestsdefloweredin their secrets...There,they sweeten,all the movementsof the body,that lightly, are touched,until the magics,are aroused,to burst them forthcontinuously...