french turnz dirt to lurv

 It sucks to hear about drought when the clouds still exist. Sometimes all I have is salty water like the rains have come to a cease.
It aches my heart whenever the shes' plays dumb to what my actions and words speaks.
 French is an emotional language everyone understands, but the shes' breaks the bridge.
Its dirt to me when all she sees in ma face is facinations
When she's got through me, but barred me off with perceptions.
She is like the stars I see on my screens, though she is at my rear.
 Telling her is dirt; like messaging bleaching creams, that's my fear.
She knows how this dirt makes me look nasty.
I call her, she freaks me, I ask to see her, she claims drowsy.
I need an interpreter to translate my dirt, I want to hear her lurv speak.
How else can she reciprocate my dirt with her lurv if her french is weak?
I leave every dirt on me like the hereos die and leave their weapons.
It's very obvious my french is clear to even her apron.
If she keeps me like some fictions I'll still sketch the illusions.
 I told myself that's the dirt symbol, make her come  for french session.
Probably it wont be a spill over.
Love never fails, even if does i ll for ever enjoy carry overs.