summer wine

by
meet my soul full of life
in the room of seasons
⋯
kiss my impulsiveness
with lips of your thoughts
⋯
do a miracle with a smile,
sinuously, to lend to you
the rays of my moon
⋯
catch the trace of my blue
with your crystalline gaze
sunken in a summer wine
⋯
the waiting waits for you
to infuse yourself in me


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the longing's light is on, — about an hour will let me chill out; the mental pictures urge, — i'm faced with all you'll do to me; frissons and butterflies rouse, — my eyes utter what my mouth can't; in love with the present, — the moment lives me, i live it, too; your joy was to please me, — nightmares are fond memories; orgasm tacit in unison, — you smile, i smile, — sleep tight; ⟮my un p'tit je ne sais quoi is lured to the poetic Stockholmsvy⟯ trick
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my steps sound in the rhythm of your thoughts thoughts that are calling me out in your dreams dreams kissed smoothly on their velvety skin, skin perfumed luxuriously with exotic scent, gently and alluring alluring and charming connected at the voice of a nightingale a nightingale on the fold of stars and moon's wrist, singing singing in its abandon, the pure essence of our carnality
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it may have been in pieces... but I gave you the best of me Awake. Shake dreams from your hair, my pretty child, my sweet one. Choose the day and choose the sign of your day the day's divinity. First thing you see. A vast radiant beach and cooled jeweled moon, couples naked race down by its quiet side and we laugh like soft, mad children smug in the wooly cotton brains of infancy. The music and voices are all around us. Choose they croon, the Ancient Ones, - the time has come again, choose now they croon  beneath the moon beside an ancient lake. Enter again the sweet forest,  Enter the hot dream, Come with us! Everything is broken up and dances. Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding, Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile eggshell mind. We have assembled inside this ancient and insane theater to propagate our lust for life - and flee the swarming wisdom of the streets. The barns have stormed, the windows kept - and only one of all the rest to dance and save us from the ...
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yAyAyA

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bizarre... i don't know what it is… but i love it

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Bizarre how the artists hypnotize me with their own voice and instruments. Bizarre, 'cause while they coddle their own devices, they take care to beautify me, painting me tunefully with their music, using the magic powers of notes and words, while simultaneously, they tell their own ravishing story, inspiring me to create, — πŸ“ƒ © un p’tit je ne sais quoi ✒️ Bizarre, because the music, like any art, affects the way you feel, or I feel. Bizarre, because creates and induces certain emotions. Bizarre, because no matter what I'm doing, or you're doing, we're gonna make time to take a look at everything that makes you or makes me happy, while music will amplify tastes, colors, compositions, and shapes. Bizarre, because the music is the diacritic mark for everything in anything, and because depends on music for the way my story or your story is gonna sound ToDaY‣‣‣ t o D ream A bout Y ou‧‧‧ (me ‧‧‧ ؟?) I don't know what it is but I love it… πŸͺ„πŸ–Š️πŸ’«  ᡏᴼᡏᴼ © KᡉᡉᡖOⁿK...
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