drive

by
even now, your thoughts give
glitter to my air, scratching
with free verses, some deeds,
where once, we allowed us
to paint strategically, our word
with tints rooted in our drive

poetic audience

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easy

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do not pray for any entity to use his power, you to be protected by your enemies, or to make them stay away from you, for if you do this, you'll observe how easy he will make disappear even some of your everyday friends, (never), but just cheap imitations of the way that you move; so better invite 'em at your chic kabaret, to wish 'em a merry Christmas, right from early in summer, applying your best smile
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only you

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Known by you and only you, it meows some memories. Some, have flowers' shapes, others, look like diamonds. Some, perfume the dreams, others, drag you in shadows. Some, touch longings' souls, others, search for words' lips. Some, appear out of the blue, others, disappear in whispers. Some, are just humming love, others, perform just pirouettes. Some, embody your ideal, others tangle your universe. Some have sincere feelings, others hover sporty in your air. ⋯ And some, and others, jointly, are licking your mind and soul. And some, and others, exercise in the spectacle of your being. You're the hero of your smiles that domesticates the wrinkles. Each facet belongs to memories. And all falls exclusively to you. No one interprets 'em except you. Faultlessly, only you, dear friend.
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feelin' good

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To define entertainment, happiness, love or whatever, it's better to be done, only at your own present time, isn't it? I'm feelin' good. α΅€α΄ΌDʳᡉᡃᡐAα΅‡α΅’α΅˜α΅—Yα΅’α΅˜ is a Sunday kind of Love.
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my love is your love

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i asked my dreams if they have any news about you… (none of them knew anything) i asked my dreams if you even exist somewhere, truly… (all of 'em woven you in music's tang) i asked my dreams if analogically, my love is your love… (instantly, every dream fell asleep)
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amour

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If you try to love me through the question mark, you better stop; (do not). Nor even any dot upon the «i», on me, do not annex. With apostrophes, do not express yourself in the sight of my eyes. Neither a dash, don't use, nor even the round parentheses. Hyphens, hiatus, or small abbreviations, the comma, or the mark of exclamation, or even a semicolon, if it will seem to you on your handy, use it without error. Instant. Give up on making the corrections. Forget about any suffix, prefix, or all syllables. Also, at thous of interjections and numerals or anything might be. They are the proves that our love was written for being played and spoken only at plural. The vowels, like fruits, predicted by the flowers of a cherry tree, and metaphors in discreet onomatopoeia, will turn each sense in epithets… or, in ellipses inside this barbarous amour, to ride (with me and you), a new grammar's texture.
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let's go

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the structure of reality, a mystery of each day ‧ (the right way doesn't exist, for orange isn't a color just the perfume of her skin spread out by his fingers) ‧ (for his mouth is occupied to complain about the silhouette of her lips) ‧ playful visitors kissing a some French 75 instead salut… santΓ©… let's go…
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echo

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The uncommunicativeness has fabricated the alphabet of silence, composing so the words from sounds, chic combined with mine and yours, plasticized in the inverted commas, because a title can be dotted with dots. When the scheme of the words gets to you, they kiss your lips, haunted in the nuance of a sinless flirt, blown through the murmur of a bizarre thought in the anticipation of some responses to the questions of my soul. Both our opinions palpitate in syllables, read and heard in some dialects, written on the staffs with the echo's synesthesia, susurrated in the mirror of the sky, while you're in my mood, exactly as… eu quero, you, sighing out your fixation, elle et moi.
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heaven sends you

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…right as heaven sends you, at your turns, you love to send the rain of kisses on my lips, on my cheeks, on my eyelids ‧ (well, i got to tell you), — the rain, madly fixed by big and warm drops, wrapped me tightly in its scintillating movements ‧ deviating my thoughts' colors, it captured my soul with its beads and my mouth with muffled sighs, to feel I am… your sweet lady
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full delight

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guide your mouth to my left ear, — kiss the murmurs that it hears at classy hours of the inked dreams ‧ mildly, put your lips on my thrill, you, full delight in a psychotic ripple savoring a demiurgic bohemian call ‧ take a frenetic moment of magic that's slowly drowning in my ecstasy, lushly poetized in a renewed burst
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