if I be wrong

by
I have only one minute

depends on you
what could you do with it

if I, be wrong, not so-so
not too-too faultless

I would if we'd be what if

poetic audience

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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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Shangri-La

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It's a Shangri-La inside me… Songs played on the radio are my coffee companions . The sun's percussion tools are flavoring the ambiance , while the sky recites my lines. The sea , moved by my words, purifies today's air as deeply as it has done lately, and ever. Ecstasy found me meditating , with my gaze's navel tilted to passion's navel of a loved one. All smell of milky chocolate , salty caramel , and pistachio , revealing who thinks of me...
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today, the sky looks at me with nerve ‧ it influences me to feel as if i were all that it is ‧ touched by ideas, i got into an eerie vibe ‧ …who's the sky's sun …who's the sky's moon‽ ‧ …could be my universe to be its muse ‽ ‧ in a wink, sky's canvas exposed the poetry I am ‧ i look at the sky, i see me sky looks at me, sees itself ‧ (who am i…‽) (both, together, asked at once)
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  the loyalty of an impeccable, known " l'grand solitaire ", it is a hobbyist of dreams that's revising its priorities, adopting passionately and yet furtively, a love's course ‧ it knows that fate will not be blamed for sloppy games of the ignorant folks who fail to adjudge that a schism it is just another way to spend time with the lovely one ‧ after all, a dream has dreams to remember… by and by
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an explicit saline councilor in the deepness of my eyes, sings prominently your song its treasured susurrations bent to my heart's pond, somewhere in the right ventricle a beauty orchestrated by lungs like a Scottish bagpipe sound made to oxygenate all senses
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my emotion got been written at the morning coffee with the ink of dream that dreams me… the influence of mine with yours spun up to the sky for blooming in a color's custody full of desires… our lust made us confess again, how wildly about we're to each other… then… everything around us smiled
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salut

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My mind comports itself like a courtesan. If I’m looking for something, — (there is). Any answer is shown and advanced to me in detail by magic’s charm of the universe in my present time, so well monopolized somewhere in the past, where my actions have already transpired, and where I paid many tributes, in coins of love, converted at an exchange office of a galaxy, with, — my chic, — Salut… [in a hypnotic manner] ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ Mon esprit se conduit tel qu’une courtisane. Si je cherche quelque chose, — (y a-t-il…). Toute rΓ©ponse, est montrΓ©e et offerte Γ  moi, en dΓ©tail, par le charme magique de l’univers, dans mon temps prΓ©sent, si bien monopolisΓ© quelque part dans le passΓ©, oΓΉ mes actions ont dΓ©jΓ  transpirΓ©, et oΓΉ, j’ai payΓ© de nombreux hommages, en monnaies d’amour, convertis dans l’une office d’Γ©change d’une galaxie, avec mon chic,– Salut… [d’une faΓ§on hypnotique]
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every morning, before sniffing out the day's whispers, I'm taking first, my adrenaline's dose, [as usually] 🫧 the sun, the chirping of the tiny sparrows, the breeze of the sea, try impressing my windowpane 🫧 each of them takes care of any part of me, improving magically, my coiffure, my eyes, my mood 🫧 the hugs, the kisses, the innocent giggles, are advanced by love's light that loves bathing in me...
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the island

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come... — catch out my poetry's nipples with the island lips of yours ‧ suck out of it... the rain of my emotions announced in the forecast of love ‧ any dose will transfer in you the energy from the nest of my stars ‧ the molecular activity of my atmosphere is gonna erect your hemisphere ‧ our happiness from the present of now will immortalize any picture falling down  ‧ the vapors of our passion will sign with pseudo name, — [end of the world]
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