in colors

by
you, brute benthos creature,
i was prepared to be yours...
𓇼
i felt desire's scream in you,
yearning to taste me,
to get deep down inside me,
like a holothurian to move
thru my body, and famished
to torture me passionately...
𓇼
instead, you metamorphosed
in a minuscule blue butterfly...
𓇼
since then, you talk in colors

poetic audience

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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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by
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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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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...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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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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