Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

do you want to put your hands on my wrist to feel the pulse of your heart?

isn't the woman's job to act reasonably but just the man's job of proving to her that she has for whom, — so i like me better when you want to be bad, but you choose to be good

1ᵉʳ jour, au début d’une nouvelle année scolaire en France,  un enseignant fait la présence dans une salle de classe : — Mustafa Al Ekhzari ? — Présent ! — Kadar Sel Ohlmi ? — Présent ! — Mohammed Endahrha ? — Présent ! — Chanhira Amarttayaku ? — Présent ! — Al Ain Ben Oit ? réduire au silence… — Al Ain Ben Oit ! pas de réponse… — Encore une fois, Al Ain Ben Oit ! un enfant gêné répond timidement : — Madame, je pense que c’est à propos de moi, mais ça se prononce correctement, Alain Benoit

it seems the memories are behaving like a connoisseur equipped fully to offer everything you're asking for; this could be somehow intimidating for some people who watch you as if you're a lovely creature, talking and listening to the voice of the own inner whore‧‧‧... lucky it only seems, otherwise, what are memories for‧‧‧؟

provocative touches ask for other heavenly touches, whatever you ask for in intimacy, it's acceptable,  it's even desirable... nothing is objectionable as long as there isn't some public nature, but what it's narrated further, it's a different story,  for the mind is always unguarded, and eyes, lips, spicy words and gestures are much more daring... there is nothing more occult than love's chemistry… ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Because 🎧 I need Love, baby, Love, not trouble... ain't funny How Love Works 🎧 More and More, Less and Less  ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

   if i sing softly over and over light my fire i'll be your baby tonight don't stop she called me softly ain't that lovin' you, baby? she took my breath away a...strange kind of woman you make me feel so good for your dreams if you believe me

There's stuff in ourselves we don't know. Something which we'll deny even if it exists until will be too late to do anything about it. We lend a habit polished as if it's a trophy, begging for the approval of others, and withal, nobody has any clue where we are, how near or how far, which's the truth or the delusion, how's the look in our eyes when what we are seeking for it hides right where we'd never think to search for if someone wouldn't appear, miraculously, to whisper its magic and encouraging call, — “i come rain or come shine… come with me, (come…), (shine on, you… crazy diamond).”

why should and how to love you still  when you're already folded around me like a gentle cloud of a rambler-rose flowing around my forehead and chest to feel you like a kind of déjà vu which if you have it, I must have it too, today to roam like twin flames in love's nest

it's almost midnight… delight me with your moon, with your mouth, with your hand, then rolls me within you… hide me in the hue of your shadows to feel the tip of your tongue wandering through me as after, to fall into the void, till the ground, then up to the "Do♭♭", making me for making you start to hum, my woman, my friend

For you didn't want to see me anymore, it's not okay. I have to understand why… Maybe you don't wanna see me any more sad, weeping, or complaining myself in an equal and contagious frequency about pains created by a headache or fake loyalty to people that are pretending to be something they're not. Or… You don't want to see me anymore, agonizing too easily because of others' sufferance… See, are a lot of questions that could be planted for finding the true answer, isn't it? Maybe because you dream about me, you don't wanna see me anymore in your dreams… No matter what you're asking for, no matter what you want, the answer is in you. In me, at this present moment, slides softly a heartbreaking melody… brilliant and sweet and acid at the same time. A midnight blues that could define someone's mood. But whose could be…  [who knows…]