follow

by
through a unidirectional portal,
couched on the cardinal climax
of the musical notes, ♫, intense
kissed on the whispers' bridge,
your delights follow my delights

the atmosphere's so passionate;
it looks like a clef on a staff 🎼
extrapolating thru a cloud's fluff,
tinier than Atlantic's dimensions
but a bit bigger than shored lisps

poetic audience

Explore Popular Posts From This Blog

we've met

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Do you remember (when and how) we've met in the middle of a speculative blue note song …‽ I was on G+ (exploring stuff). By magic, (you), appeared in that unknown universe with lots of galleries, as if you've been a quicksilver kind. Inside that space, some had barbarous profiles with plenty of pixels and wildish longings. Then, (you), came into my sight like an androgynous , with a look spoiled in dreams' circuit ,  adrenaline and drama, with a pulse a click away from mine. We dreamt of poetry, melodious lyrics , and voices with their souls hid through a keyboard or mouse. Your hologram , maybe, was seeking, like me, for an indubitable feeling and a  definition , using a few subtle skills, to somehow adjust our world. A bit.
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DooWooDooWoo

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i roused up in the rain's melody orchestrated in DooWooDooWoo of thunders and flashes instantly, a Mirabelle tree blossomed while the sun has dripped out its golden ink on it a mild scent compassed in an arch of colors, surrounded, spectacularly, my chic boudoir‥ the spring laughs with bouquets of summer, [life's essences have better fantasy than mine]
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i know it's good

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morning got more cheerful right at the estimated time, having the framed taste of your planned smile for me 𓇼 even so, I have to complain, cos your kiss arrived later, — unpredictable as always, and again, with a different flavor 𓇼 somehow, you were cosmic, making me talk celestial while my body took the shape configured by your hands 𓇼 on the basis of your will, carved by a superb dream full of unforeseen incidents you knew I know it's good 𓇼 both of us, naivety metaphor in the vestment of memory, creating a spectacle daily while we hum the day's refrain
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too late to love you

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like a ladybug, my thoughts walk on tiptoes toward a leaf of a rose, shaded by its petals full of crystalline dew from a dream's origin where was never too late to love you, subtly ▫ this hysterical lust kept in my coded essences for five long years, you felt it, too, on your lips, hunting me musically in a bouquet of red wine, just enough for your whispers to kiss my body ▫ i lost even my thoughts' number full of spirit, since i've been loving you… metamorphosed in a rain of a summer, in a season of the sun, saluting inquiringly, our love's bizarre strategy
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lumière bleue

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your poem... — your poem is a sinless mirror sculpting me all right in an ingenious fairy tale your poem waltzes me on the scene of lucidity using its own rationality to renovate my Eden your poem confers me constellations, sheens, and charming mysteries on full moon's corolla your poem is a sea of wine which kisses me with mandolin's voice in your lumiΓ¨re bleue your poem... — your poem, i'm writing it daily with nights' eyes to dream of me during the day
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candlelight

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Take out from my hair and from wherever the guilty sentiments of yours towards me. You know that candlelight can become sun, enough to enlighten the darkest hours. Bring to me the shine of your love and the feelings with all images out of the past. Fairy tales and laughter stirred by blame, incertitude, sleepless nights, passions and an imaginary kiss will heal any obsession. Take out from my hair and from wherever the guilty sentiments of yours towards me. Don’t you remember when I told you that the mystery of the night can be whenever, in the middle of the day or whichever hour? So let’s splash out our love, let's devour it. Let’s be lovers tonight. What do you say?  
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true story

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sheepish and fearful, — placed on the rib of a dream, a tree tries to put itself a new suit on its twigs a thread of sand feeling it, it began to wave a poem metamorphosing the view into a palpitating symphony subtle fragrances of the pink magnolias and pines kissed the spring's ambiance budding it in a true story and me, i became warmer listening curiously, its light, orchestrated tenderly by a moaning subtle breeze
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a little bit

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stop; don’t try to divine some answers anymore, generated into a day... (of whatever's tomorrow) if the thoughts slipped out of the brain box, but got treated as if they weren't well-packed ▫ murmured, out of the blue, the wind's whisper, trying to temper me, melodic… (just a little bit) with the drastic formula of a sensitive topic about the one who has a chiaroscuro intellect ▫ intermediary, music flows, inviting rain to laugh (without modesty), in my boundlessness, which owns numerical superiority in any adventure of the truth, while it dances with else's delusions...
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