thinkin' bout you

by Claudia ✓
in the writer's farm, —
you'll find me planted, —
my name's love…

on the music's farm
thinkin' bout you
you... humming…

in all artists' farms,
i am their attire,
sound, color, word,
‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧
i am the muse


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I'm Confessin'

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Nothing is more beautiful than talking to the sea. You start to talk to it irrelevant stuff, telling a few simple stories, as if it might mean something. The sea doesn't stop you. It's listening to you. Even gives you that feeling, encouraging you to confess while it morphs your soul in harmonious healing waves. Involved in a dialogue with an imaginary presence, your status quo, instantly, ends up rolling back and forth. Till you see the change, a smile already populates your face. It's no wonder why the play of the lips, the frisson, the elegant acceptance, the conversation scene, coexist in a lush blue realm at open-minded degree.
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are you sure you want ⟬…‽⟭

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are you sure you want to… …to get to know me as i'm identified in a hidden life, messed up in multiplicated hopes with sweet dreams that fill my eyes with you… where you'd love to be… …‽ are you sure you want to… …to go far and deep, directly to experience my rules, sown with the magnitude of every boost, illogically absorbed by your instincts in the subconscious of my scent… …‽ are you sure you want to… …to sip a coffee, conceived and seduced by the witchery of my dialect embroidered with subtle inscriptions, and devoured by the pupils of the sun while you're perched on my pedestal… …‽ are you sure you want to… …you want to be addicted by the thunderstorm of my fantasies, spaced in the fruit bowl with the passionate loves' bacteria…‽ …cos i'm not, not as sure as you think ⟬…⟭ are you sure you want to… …to get to know, — why the shoe size is — happiness, why soothing zone depends on you, why the grammar of time is — oxygen, why the future is — today …‽  
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a little bit

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stop; don’t try to divine anymore some answers 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 𓇼 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 𓇼 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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solitaire

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fidelity of an impeccable, known "l'grand solitaire" is a hobbyist of dreams which revised its priorities selecting passionately and furtively a love's course there, fate will never be blamed for hesitant's game of ignorant folks who fail to grasp that a disunion is just another way to connect with lovely someone ✶ when a dream got dreams to remember [eventually]
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it's been said

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I saw you at the periphery of an absentmindedly hour. Perceiving that, I've decided for good to not want you anymore in my mind at the borderline of another hour. I could give you thousands of minutes of reasons why but I preferred to let words get trundle ridiculous among the air of love where it's been said daily a tale. After all, in the realm of imagination, everyone can be replaced exactly as is replaced an image from a gallery, an address from a city, or a song with another one….
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check my phone

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your voice expires, inspires, kisses, sips me, invoking me to check my phone your voice makes the silence to whisper while ingests my carnal feelings' avatar your voice harnesses delicacy's naturalness, as if it knows I have dreams of you your voice is in my head, — no one imagines with who i talk to
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made for you

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take off your clothes, I wanna talk with you in the noble language of music and poetry made for you under the ritual of the muses disposed into the rays of the moon and sun to love you to love me all around the world using musicians' and poets' extravagance
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thrilling all-around

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with you on my lips got famished my pencil with you in my mind i'm diluvium of dreams my rebel soul's cadence is nestled in your blood your wild heart's echo is ringing in my head your photography  whispers love's savor but I stay quiet to listen to your caress thrilling all-around, from east-west to north-south
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major 🥂 in December skies

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hybridized in each December skies' source, — i am, — generated by desires and dreams with talkative hands and piercing pupils ⋆ hybridized in the synthesis of exquisiteness, — i am, — engendered in the mystery of poetry, pivoted by a major clandestine moment ⋆ hybridized in the sun rays and flower buds, — i am, — a tangible caress of the shiver, in tandem with life sucking milk from an eager love ⋆ hybridized in the zodiac of the majestic stars, — i am, — an ember unleashed, a soul-shaking whim, an entity, radiating optimism, stirring up joy
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language of Love

by Claudia ✓
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— how would you prefer it to be, (younger... older‧‧‧), (you asked) — (‧‧‧distinguished...), (i replied), its ruby of the mature raspberry must vibrate on my lips in the language of Love... — must be… in—ti—ma—te—ly… must be acting in a chronicle which rouses those kinds of emotions... to take you to take me far, far away, there… from where it comes... wrapped in the veil of a kiss... if you could feel what I'm thinking
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