Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

whisper my name write my mirage experience me, — in the name of longing in the name of verbs in the name of mystery in the name of appetite for my smile, for my eyes that kiss you, caress you for here I am your drunkenness, urging you valiantly to bathe me in the dew of your smile, to see me blossoming on dawn's edge of your lips on mine, — profiled to not get as one perceived feelin' dangerous  for I whisper your name for I write your mirage for I experience you bohème

the night defines my atmosphere, — noises of the town hums softly thru my thoughts, — the clock ticks slowly your sonorous tremor to moon's ecstasy, — cos in a smooth vibe of a destination is the cyclic crazy love among midnight and goddess of the dawn

when I think of you, I am another human being cos the other person has its own story to write when I longing you, I am your forbidden dream cos you're nothing but a royal shadow butterfly when I'm missing you, I paint you and frame you with sleepless colors under the rays of my moon cos when I'm writing to you, I use astral essences pulsed by my sun, to bring you back to the light

your lips pressing lightly my lips, — a fine pamper in the liquid condition, wildish and sweetly, — like honey your touches drip rain on my body to purify it with an electrified solution of your natural tonic, fire full of art your thought plunging in my thought, it's writing to me, frankly, all your love, not to be read, but to meet us again

was it not my purpose to fall in love with you but to be happy, to taste your wildish passion, the magic of a miracle you are, my storyteller, the writer costumed as a soldier of the words using the polychromic vestments of illusions provoking me, confessing till I'm pouring down amazing, for I hate you so much as I miss you

one day you'll see me and you'll ask me, — "is it you?" politely I'll reply to you, — "no...I'm not..." is the weird aftermath of knowing you only in my dreams using the parade of feelings with the cryptic parody in the satire of life for the creed of its games one day I'll see you and I will ask you, — "where have you been?" and you'll reply to me politely, — "nowhere but in your dream"

staring easy like that, you've struck a pose mirroring the own art exposed by yourself for predicting few sentiments absurdly felt in your mind and soul rolling unexplainable with the brusque desire to run away with me through a place of universe illustrated and evoked intentionally to live the love at full

with the ink of happy... single in the dreams using the alphabet of stars, in your calendar, like a party drug, I am... a mysterious moon written and portrayed in any day's caprice tactically as you sing in my crepuscular zone indifferent what season could be felt in you

bizarrely, like a shadow of an idea in the blue moon of your thought, I've appeared without any weight, like a stain of blood, — to be felt any day and ever-more, provoked with least a sophisticated interest, for your mind is a picture untamed and me still intimidated, I dare you to find me in the atlas of your soul

with a vestment tissued in a veil of steam, the morning, like a dream, arose scented at my window with an aim to provoke me to adopt the guise of an irresistible blaze fine chaired by a playful beam of the sun sleepy, without knowing if it's ready or not, any beam of the moon have been let it ride through the essences of my luring nights controlled by the spell of your lavishly kiss sent to feel you as if I'm so close I can taste it