sweet Babylon

by
the atmosphere of my soul is
to listen to those who sing about you…

[❝ if there's anything that you want
if there's anything that you're missing
if there's anything that you need ❞], —

you, — wild love, sweet Babylon

 

poetic audience

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all I've got

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somewhere... — someday... in an imprudent moment caressed by blue silence of the moon you'll recognize yourself in the waves of a friendship, a treasure hidden in memories exposed to find that solace... — my aim is to offer you the key... once upon a time's [all I've got]
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body blues...

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an unstoppable artistically silhouette [it's mine, not yours] a frisson into body blues concealed [that's yours, not mine] dream-makers are drawing the mood [eagerness has charm] any thought into my dreamt dreams [prove it to be what I need now] loving you, loving me is not fantasy, [even if all about it looks so alike]
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yellow moon

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take a sip of a rosy wine made with happy grapes in a hotly autumn one, intentionally to infiltrate in your blood and nervures, fairly to exhaust your mind with the photosynthesis of my exquisite essence, you to shine phenomenally thru my yellow moon's rays
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if I'm not asking too much…

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— ...Suppose that to give a few lectures, daily you had to commute between Heaven and Hell, what would you take with you? — A book, a bottle of wine, and a woman, Lord, if I'm not asking too much. — Too much. We’ll cut out the woman. She would involve you in conversations putting ideas into your head, and your preparation would suffer. — I beseech you, cut out the book, I'm gonna write it myself, Lord, if I only have the bottle of wine and the woman. That’s my wish and my need. Is it too much? — You’re asking too much... Supposing that daily, to give a few lectures, you had to commute between Heaven and Hell, what would you take with you? — A bottle of wine and a woman, if I'm not asking too much. — That’s what you wanted before, don’t be insistent, it’s too much, as you know... We’ll cut out the woman. — What do you have against her? Why do you persecute her? Cut out the bottle rather! Wine weakens me, almost leaves ...
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we've met

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Do you remember (when and how) we've met in the middle of a speculative blue note song …‽ I was on G+ (exploring stuff). By magic, (you), appeared in that unknown universe with lots of galleries, as if you've been a quicksilver kind. Inside that space, some had barbarous profiles with plenty of pixels and wildish longings. Then, (you), came into my sight like an androgynous , with a look spoiled in dreams' circuit ,  adrenaline and drama, with a pulse a click away from mine. We dreamt of poetry, melodious lyrics , and voices with their souls hid through a keyboard or mouse. Your hologram , maybe, was seeking, like me, for an indubitable feeling and a  definition , using a few subtle skills, to somehow adjust our world. A bit.
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trust in me

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Put into a magic box: a sheaf of silence , a thread of happiness , two drops of hope , about two hands full of dreams , and the rest, as well as it fits, put freedom ... ‧ Put the lid on. Put a small key in there too. On one side… (to the left is necessary). Then rotate it three times, so will resonate an electric velvet song in  your soul's jungle . ‧ Close your eyes until the song will end, because good fairies will dance around you, and you don't have to, (to see them). Shush... Shut your eyes and listen to... trust in me.
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bizarre... i don't know what it is… but i love it

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Bizarre how the artists hypnotize me with their own voice and instruments. Bizarre, 'cause while they coddle their own devices, they take care to beautify me, painting me tunefully with their music, using the magic powers of notes and words, while simultaneously, they tell their own ravishing story, inspiring me to create, — © poetic mood ‧ un p'tit je ne sais quoi πŸ„― Bizarre, because the music, like any art, affects the way you feel, or I feel. Bizarre, because creates and induces those certain emotions. Bizarre, because no matter what I'm doing, or you're doing, we're gonna make time to take a look at everything that makes you or makes me happy, while music will amplify tastes, colors, compositions, and shapes. Bizarre, because the music is the diacritic mark for everything in anything, and because depends on music for the way my story or your story is gonna sound ToDaY‣‣‣ t o D ream A bout Y ou‧‧‧ (me ‧‧‧ ؟?) I don't know what it is but I love it… πŸͺ„...
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shh... breathe...

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β‚˜mβ‚˜β‚˜, (what a good taste has your love for me...), it sedates even the midnight moon p.d.q. shhh... breathe... say nothing; let me take the words I want directly from your hungry lips; your moans caress my hearing as if are the canticles' canticle; i'm in you deeper than it feels Cantique des Cantiques [ from the Old Testament ]
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