real wild child

by
full of deep desire, I let my lungs
to get invaded with your perfume,
while your hands whispered to me
on my body the romance of poetry
mixed with the unfathomable lust
of the real wild child as you are
tamed, waiting calmly for my love


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nightmares are fond memories

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the longing's light is on, — about an hour will let me chill out; the mental pictures urge, — i'm faced with all you'll do to me; frissons and butterflies rouse, — my eyes utter what my mouth can't; in love with the present, — the moment lives me, i live it, too; your joy was to please me, — nightmares are fond memories; orgasm tacit in unison, — you smile, i smile, — sleep tight; ⟮my un p'tit je ne sais quoi is lured to the poetic Stockholmsvy⟯ trick
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morning rouse, — bizarre dream of last night, — forgot Les Fleurs at the coffee, — interesting Les Litanies, — followed with Lord's Prayer darkness, — identical as is a lit side; the beauty of ugly, the ugly of beauty, — Baudelaire explained; night and day, — unseparated; increasing, decreasing, — equally; the love, — is there or is not at all... defines a weakness, — artistic creation; a pray, — telepathy works... come closer
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yAyAyA

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Can you talk without having any knowledge about the one who supposed to listen to you passionately and conclusively? Doesn't it feel as if your voice puts your brain in a quandary? All you want is to read the magic of the stars. And yet, to do it, isn't essential to gaze into the eyes of the one who's loved? I found wondering myself, even as tempted, I imagined the lips of this enigmatic one, who's gazing at what wants to hear, while without getting pressured, it experiences all the songs' words. It's a vibe as if it reads me, wanting to identify on which side of the syllables am I sleep, and which word must be breathed... That one is dulcifying by itself with poetic thrills, ruled at a pub, somewhere on a roof known as the blue cafΓ©, in a «yAyAyA» realm comparable to milky-way, as if I know what it's like to be not to be.
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to balance the imbalance of some days, verify your soul volume,— one portrayed and discreetly arranged by your heartbeat with the temperature of your blood and mad pressure of some detouring stories systematized by the texture of your mind to rise the sound speeds of my whispers inapt of uttering, I love you I miss you... to balance the imbalance of some days, ain't nothin' wrong to check once more the timbre and vibration of my feelings
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bizarre... i don't know what it is… but i love it

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Today everything seems to be nicer. Even I seem to look much more beautiful. I woke up with the mad urge for bonbon, chocolate with almonds, and berries syrup. I've perfumed my hair with peonies. I dropped the sweetness of rose on my lips, and I took the happiness in my soul. Today, life just invited me to dance, and I accepted, murmuring, [and you, my love]
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one million stardust

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peony buds blossom in my thoughts their delicate scent emanate through your eyes the sun, like a virtual luv3r, spreads velvety petals all over sedated, my lips narrate in the dialect of one million stardust cosmic words paint the skin of your dream in the hue of my shade your mouth tastes any part of me using the moisture codex of love Alien codex by The Wandering Caretaker
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me you

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the perception, me, you, the disappearing action yet my disappearing action isn't your perception, but a speck of miraculous dust out of the universe called love, a hereditary molecule from my DNA combined with the essences of all good addictions in encoded information just to tingle your spine
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