back to the light

by
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

poetic audience

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solitaire

by
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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ain't stopping

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…whisper to me, soul , — whose love , love is afraid of, whose love it yearns for‽ …whisper to me, touch , — whose touch, touch is afraid of, whose touch it yearns for‽ …whisper to me, kiss , — whose kiss, kiss is afraid of, whose kiss it yearns for‽ …whisper to me, dream , — whose dream, dream is afraid of, whose dream it yearns for‽ …whisper to me, word , — whose word, word is afraid of, whose word it yearns for‽ …whisper to me, smile , — whose smile, smile is afraid of, whose smile it yearns for‽ …whisper to me, silence , — whose silence, silence is afraid of, whose silence it yearns for‽ …whisper to me, love, — whose soul, soul is afraid of, whose soul it yearns for‽ …whisper to me, truth , — ain't stopping till you're done with (who's afraid), (who yearns) …‽
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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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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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yum

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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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another brick in the wall

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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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bad episode

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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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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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body blues...

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an unstoppable artistically silhouette [it's mine, not yours] a frisson into body blues concealed [that's yours, not mine] dream-makers are drawing the mood [eagerness has charm] any thought into my dreamt dreams [prove it to be what I need now] loving you, loving me is not fantasy, [even if all about it looks so alike]
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broken

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Maybe this time tomorrow, hopeless to help myself, I'm gonna cheat on you with one... or with another, — cool off, you're not my first with a heart ripped, and guilt, it isn't yours but mine, having much love to give ⋯ Maybe this time tomorrow, I'm gonna cheat on you but what's the tonic now is four-day creep, we're in, when I am yours at infinite while you are mine, total; total in love, romantic incurable, hellishly passional ⋯ Maybe this time tomorrow, when some incertitudes will look for you, another's arms will cuddle you and with appealing lips will kiss you, while you will think to let a note, (I'll cheat on you... It's not your fault...) ⋯ (narrates with broken hearts, a mistress, and a dude)
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