preaching blues

by
where have you been, cos I looked for you,
it seemed you've staged your fictionality,
as if you've been there and yet absently
exactly like a clumsy god preachin' blues

poetic audience

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giddy up

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by
from the immensity of sins committed in the witching hour, i will call you to lead you into the abyss of my immortality; there, i'll revive you from verses as my muse which you are from the thoughts of any poem penned, only you'll know my cruel curse that empathizes with all your inside burning, enough to bloom in you the lure of my seductive perfume from any sheer feeling, if any moment will get you bored, i will feel you flowing in me, and i'll take care to inject you with my nasty blood, till reborn in you, my emotions' spark
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by
Dear dizzy fall day from this time of the year, even if it seems to be the season of the witch, I dunno what kind of strategy are you trying. To be accurate, I didn't imagine our dating be so grayish and cold and without your golden and brassy and cuddled and warm sunshades. Fortunately, I was inspired to put on me some perfume with sprightly notes, enough for avoiding any wrong situation, also to reinvent another story, with each part of your sun, inclined on me, to look shinier. Guess that could be one of your deep excuses, in your hurry to see me, and is accepted. Yet, do whatever's necessary to fix up your mood. Even implore a competent one for a prescription… — P.S. — (Do it AΛ’SᡒᡒⁿAΛ’Pᡒ˒˒ⁱᡇˑᡉ). Winter knocks.
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I can not stop time and yet, unintended, I remember You for you're not what you hide in aphotic side unseen, but what you've become through your own free will, throwing light to my invisible shape, sensible and mystic in your style invoked, in your air inhaled, in your water, sunk, in your visions, zoomed, you not to be dropped in bad magic spells or to be hijacked by my deep-blue mind, deeper than the ocean darker than the night...
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