little girl...

by
Life looks like a carousel
No, it didn't get me dizzy.
Was just barely warming.

Your majesty, another tour.
And please, don't stop.

As a privileged one,
my inner feelings
are a tribute paid
in coins with the taste
of colors, music, love.

It's an entire patrimony
always rewarded  with
a ravishing smile
of the woman I am
and of that little girl
hidden inside me...

poetic audience

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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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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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by
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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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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in the spatial pub of a dream, your time reserved the table, — music; the crystalline gestures of us are orchestrating the main menu; we taste a smile, but dessert winks at us, pushing the moment into a yum ambiance; we're admired by a hug and a kiss which do pirouettes on poetry's floor (...in the spatial pub of a dream)
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...the memories of the communism, of the dictatorship, in the cult of the fear, are sealing the lips, are petrifying the facial muscles, are ripping the soul, while the howl of the reality is locking the lungs with the padlock of anxiety, using the key of manipulation, attired in military boots; ...people are stuck in a profound disgust of what the hell happens;   ...suddenly, everybody feels censored, just to not hear and see each other's truth, right in the most crucial point; even AI knows; ... the view of a high percentage, promoted nowadays, it's the war, it's the fascism, it's the antisemitism, it's a voice that's not mine or yours, but of someone which with others are using it as if it is; ...entire communities are threatened with all the catastrophic effects that even the imagination is too damn afraid to imagine about; ...a manifestation of the hate, disapproves human attributes, alimenting the souls with an aching pain just to suffer repeatedly; ...the...
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kitchen seems smaller for both of them to use it, — nerves pollute the air • this bad episode caused tough gazes between them, like a wordless song • the context wasn't rude, but wasn't pleasant... (neither fun); as it came... has gone
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