Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

the color of You… blurred the light of the moon, of the sun, of the sky, accenting drunkenness of your love wandering somewhere in a deep of the ocean, wearing peaceably the action of longing in a blue aura of the mystery I am, close and far, simultaneously in all your visions; ♡ the color of Me is a drug collection, [whispers, smiles, hugs, and kisses]

if you insist the dictum of love is religion, I'll contradict you, for indisputable isn't in the cosmic period of my present time where even contours of snowflakes see what I mean it... nonchalantly proving and amusing in games of the spirits, felt and used in the metaphors of each day, so well devised thru steady descriptions, portrayed by this agnostic soul of mine, fine demonized in beauty by your mind, characterized in a deeper love aphorism, met not just in lucid dreams but in truths

could you let the reality get deformed because — loving me, it's your dream, and loving you, it's my fantasy with all my smiles and giggles, synchronized with any moments since you met me, also, with all my lack of experience in waving your thoughts paid with lots precious attentions in beauty sessions of your inseparable emotions, coupled at the ylang-ylang perfume of my soul, and assimilated with secret's fineness of a message hidden in the unique taste of a me‧ta‧xa, explored slowly, to not get scared the kiss that's been longing a lot for our lips to talk fluently in lust's dialect vibing into the all undivided parameter found in the mage of watermelon sugar, winded in the torrential love chemistry

I take a seat, I have a smoke, chirping, I hear a hummingbird its sapphire sound intense I feel... it fills my soul until the brim but I'm a dream, nobody knows it makes me cringe that I can't talk

a song is an oeuvre looking for your lips to get in your soul and in your spirit with lack of scrupulousness, incited by incontinence of feelings unwritten at the best examination but rather gallantly and nobly, using simplicity which isn't but my key

like a belle muse, schemed and lured with the quill-pen, ends and starts the dream painted with the guitar's echo panicking our eyes and lips with the physique of passion, happily snowed and wrapped with the flakes of our lust, me ⇌ you, fusing in one desire, créme de la créme, love