music to my ears

by
while your lips are comforting me,
your hands are whispering to me
music to my ears

poetic audience

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adrenaline

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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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somewhere

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an explicit saline councilor in the deepness of my eyes, sings prominently your song its treasured susurrations bent to my heart's pond, somewhere in the right ventricle a beauty orchestrated by lungs like a Scottish bagpipe sound made to oxygenate all senses
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vortex

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you, in any of my thoughts, kill the silence with the jaw of the fantasy; the light of your vocalizes fills the darkness making saints and devils tremble; hidden behind a mask, everyone omits how fragile you are, [hero/antihero at once]; like an insane wildish force of sea's vortex is your character acting in the love's name; and is, and is not revenge, and is, and is not  justice, but just your elixir, quelling a gaffe;
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the island

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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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solitaire

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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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mille fois

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i am the sky of the skies above all the skies, bearing the sun of the sun of all the suns, and the moon of the moon of all the moons i am the world of the worlds of all the worlds, bearing the star of the stars of all the stars, and the dream of the dream of all the dreams i am the wish of the wish of all the wishes, bearing the night of the night of all the nights, and the day of the days of all the days i am the love of the love of all the loves, bearing the color of the colors of all the colors, and the joy of the joys of all the joys i am the very best of the best of all the best, for i am the i of myself of all the i of the selves of i, crΓ¨me de la crΓ¨me of all the crΓ¨me de la crΓ¨me (je suis mille fois un trait distinctif  traduite), while a thousand times is not enough for what i am for any sky, any world, any wish, any love, inculcated
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emotion

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my emotion got been written at the morning coffee with the ink of dream that dreams me… the influence of mine with yours spun up to the sky for blooming in a color's custody full of desires… our lust made us confess again, how wildly about we're to each other… then… everything around us smiled
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distorting time

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the magic tips of his dreams fingers slipping sluggishly into her heart pocket caress any carnal curves of her brain then annihilates any psychic aggression by sedating her with the vaccine of love of his longing that burns smoldering the magic tips of his dreams fingers slipping sluggishly into her heart pocket is kissing the platonic texts of her lust painted by the resolutions of his universe with a distorting time in a square moon rolled in a future of an imperfect perfection and this happens just because the tips of his dreams fingers are magic...
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