fluff

by
Shush... I try to listen to what claims your silence.
Lower your voice more to hear how you hear me
crayoned in your fluff hint with all senses choked.

Shush... still try to track what your silence claims...
I'm only miles away from you & a few secs of truth
in your howl... inhibited after sharply freed o'clock.

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walk right in

by
…another poem, — the same you… still, (with my dreams looking for you…) ‧ a new day… trying to corrupt you, it uses an inverted message, — (i'm not missing you) ‧ with you loving me, time conjugates me at stars' snazzy joy, validating my alibis ‧ in all your longings, cabochons' agonies affects drastically, my chronic absence ‧ ingenuous moments walk right in your way, translating bizarrely, all you should perceive
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as sweet as a sin...

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I'm as sweet as a sin in your eyes, when you hold the fasting of me demurely in your soul and mind loving me till God and looking humbled for the light to find a smell of the saint of myrrh. I'm as sweet as a sin in your eyes, then, when you're waiting for dispensation, that dispensation for love without knowing if it'll come this sweetness of godly thought with the smell of books and innocence. I'm as sweet as a sin, and you… you gotta be a chocolate Jesus looking in the sinner inside you knowing that it is not a miraculous icon or healing source that could heals you of me... me............................as sweet as a sin…
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are you sure you want ⟮…‽⟯

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are you sure you want to get to know me as i'm identified in a hidden life, messed up in multiplied hopes with sweet dreams that fill my eyes with you… where you'd love to be …‽ are you sure you want to go far and deep, directly to experience my rules, sown with the magnitude of every boost, illogically absorbed by your instincts in the subconscious of my scent …‽ are you sure you want to sip a coffee, conceived and seduced by the witchery of my dialect, embroidered with subtle inscriptions, and devoured by the pupils of the sun while you're perched on my pedestal …‽ are you sure you want to be addicted to the thunderstorm of my fantasies, spaced in the fruit bowl with the passionate loves' bacteria, cos i'm not, not as sure as you think …‽ are you sure you want to get to know why the shoe shape relates to happiness, why soothing zone depends on you, why the grammar of time is oxygen, why the future is — today …‽  
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dream's scenario

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Salut, — (facilitates dialogs) ▫ Water, — (life's elixir) ▫ Sugar, — (silhouette issue) ▫ Food, — (anxiety factor) ▫ Hobbies, — (therapy experience) ▫ Work, — (didactic effort) ▫ Admirers, — (transitory phase) ▫ Family, — (moralistic interaction) ▫ Love, — (perfection's test) ▫ Hope, — (multiplicated missions) ▫ Writing, — (suggestive interplay) ▫ Today, — (dream's scenario) ▫ Mood, — (unique identity) ▫ Myself, — (free mind) ▫ Story, — (three words) ▫ Coco Deep Blue
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check it out

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rough noises in my dreams, stirs restlessness in your soul; i check on you… you're fine 𓇼𓇼𓇼 (check it out), each day's moment, seems to be like a comic illustration, personalized through thoughts; thoughts attached to at least a mesmerizing song, exactly as the love's mood accepts its own ego; own ego has evil one too, who wants to be amused without justifying itself to no one, but on contrary; contrary to one, will be another, who's fully exposed and terrified by the fire of stress in a way amnesic; (so check it out), each day's moment so seems to be; (a comic illustration, personalized through thoughts);
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a little bit

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stop; don’t try to divine some answers anymore, generated into a day... (of whatever's tomorrow) if the thoughts slipped out of the brain box, but got treated as if they weren't well-packed ▫ murmured, out of the blue, the wind's whisper, trying to temper me, melodic… (just a little bit) with the drastic formula of a sensitive topic about the one who has a chiaroscuro intellect ▫ intermediary, music flows, inviting rain to laugh (without modesty), in my boundlessness, which owns numerical superiority in any adventure of the truth, while it dances with else's delusions...
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every kind of people

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Have you heard the news? It rains! It rains with curses toward the sky, It rains with war toward the angels. It rains with reason, and no reason, scary, and toxic, and verbal abuse. Have you heard the news? It's fury! Fury, and old and new and blended with undefined labyrinthine rigors. And motivated, and not motivated. Fury of some toward of other ones. Have you heard the news? It's love! Love that dies multiple times a day. Love attired in deep hate and agony. Love that's desperate and famished in women's, men and children eyes. Have you heard the news? I did. I do. I watch perplexed at any TV channels. I see an angry one yelling to others, while deities' rays light up in darkness with aim to shield a realm from monsters. Have you heard the news? It's about people... every kind of people.
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when the fire hits the sea

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A handsome. A handsome person is one who doesn't even know how beautiful it is.  If someone tried telling him/her about it, will not accept the compliment, because are awfully stubborn to self-perfection. And I don't mean physical beauty, because “dolly-woman” and “dolly-man” might be many, but it doesn't automatic confer the status of a handsome person. No. No way… A handsome person is one whose mind is spectacular in its sharpness. Gives shiver. Makes hair lift only by the simple fact of letting own thoughts be nonconformist, but enough to caress the senses of the other. The handsome one knows how to dominate your feelings, taming and preparing 'em to dance sensually for him/her and then to hold you so intensely as you to no longer want to escape from the grip of its charm. A handsome person is a rarity. So damn rare. A law should be given for being protected cos fascinates like no other specimen from earth. [of course, someone is in my mind…] It's one with that c...
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heavenly

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the climate of my thoughts it's consumed into a kiss soft, long, wild, heavenly my mind invokes you with all arguments of lust thirsted as an empty pen your silhouette is contoured by my eyes, using their color attired in the outfit of love my breath is modulated with all whispers of your touches mysterious felt on my body you, sculptor of my thoughts, the climate you set in me
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