bonjour

by Claudia ✓
it's just you, —
as if you're the only option...

your soul is caught
in the settings of my dreams...

my gallery's full of you, —
natively sweetly brute...

it's just you, —
my deep lust… my (bonjour…)

all is memorized in messages
with petite phrases...

all conspire thru fragile whims
and skills... (at any call...)

(j'imagine l'amour avec toi)


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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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Unblemished, I let my smile roving on the alley of the metaphors. Metaphors which, once, peopled one's shadow full of sensations. Sensations tamed and boosted with an implausible profile pic. Pic with the parts of its aspects lost in nothingness or joyfulness. Joyfulness with moving feelings, and thoughts wondering… why's‽ Why is late yet early, and why is far yet closely, on poets' boulevard. Boulevard accompanied by craves, gesticulating longingly, the passion. Passion of the nomad me and others, fermenting loves on metaphors' alley. Alley with paths to light and dreams, like a switch at the call of the love.  Love moaning,  — (let only music cry), (there is no medicine like the blues).
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Your dream gets in my dream whenever wants. There is no any other power able to control it. There is no prescribed mechanism to forbid it. The bewildering joy and the groggy happiness are dominating both dreams. Mine and yours... ⋯ The key to explore a dream in a dream, belongs  only to beautiful people. The rest can only hope. But hope is perverse. And botch the appearance. And sometimes, steps on everything, arrogantly, aiming for having even what wasn't meant for it. ⋯ It whispered my instinct, verified by all my souls which live in my soul and nourish my entire being. ⋯ All the souls of my soul possess their own source. Dream has its soul. Why do you think I dream‽ Writing, too... But so has the laughing. And so on... ...the Love. Why do you think I love, and I'm loved‽ Why your dream gets in my dream as it please···‽ ⋯ (giggling), (mysteriously blooming), (kissing... me)
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salut, — allez, bisous

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⟮good morning, my love⟯, — it's my lights' charming effect framed in a smiley kiss 𓇼 ⟮the midday greeting⟯, — it's rays influx from suns' eyes flaunting lunch meeting 𓇼 ⟮the evening's hello⟯, — it's bliss, it's contentment with treat, music, film 𓇼 ⟮nighttime yawns with joy⟯, — the moon and starry sky stalk cheerful soothing time 𓇼 each greet browses me while I think and look for fun, flirting with life's plans 𓇼 ⟮so⟯, — salut, allez, bisous, — it's facile to relate to ⟮while we socialize⟯
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love is sweet

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in my head is the moaning of a night, — (a hypnotizing night), named after you, you, the one who loves to listen to a song, housed in the bedding of a hard drive ⋯ sweetly, breathing my worldly fullness, an inventive kiss, from that exact time, has migrated in this status quo, reviving so a dream, to erect your untamed nature ⋯ a secret flows from an annex of the heart, examining and tingling my lips, tactfully, while your smile, [moisturizing my breasts], moans like night, [love is sweet] with you
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time does not change

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you can't run

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I've been anointed with the sky's lotions when I was born ⋯ love was waiting for me, pure and frenetic, passionate and bright ⋯ with a texture, delicate and graceful, I've got a prophetic name ⋯ my duties were, to keep my family happy, brimming with pride ⋯ lessons transmitted by my loved ones to me, implemented top augur ⋯ the faith expressed is to live together peacefully, side by side ⋯ equally, yet different, you can't run from love, but towards it ⋯ now, my mood whistles, bizarrely, a song's riffs across the room ⋯ always in love, migrating on your thought's eyelid, I'm your rhyme
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