Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

…and your whispers, (all Greek to me), made my soul flutter, and lips tingle; my mind translated them as it wished, — living a dream, (want you to want me); in my lungs, I could feel growing wings, — silky, translucent wings caressed by lust; my digestive system was overburdened by cocoons' crews, ready to free butterflies; from the forehead of love, I could taste your moistened lips slipping on my lips; like a metaphor of a poet, my eyes shone, letting flow joy in a sweet-toned cascade; the meeting with you was good for me, while falling in love was a magic bonus;

I've been anointed with the sky's lotions when I was born ⋯ love was waiting for me, pure and frenetic, passionate and bright ⋯ with a texture, delicate and graceful, I've got a prophetic name ⋯ my duties were, to keep my family happy, brimming with pride ⋯ lessons transmitted by my loved ones to me, implemented top augur ⋯ the faith expressed is to live together peacefully, side by side ⋯ equally, yet different, you can't run from love, but towards it ⋯ now, my mood whistles, bizarrely, a song's riffs across the room ⋯ always in love, migrating on your thought's eyelid, I'm your rhyme

very frequently, i tend to travel through the visionaries' escapades; shows me that their life stories serve to betray the others' life stories; waiting on a blue sky, seems a parallel which reminds you to exclaim, — (the course of history repeat itself, regularly) (epochs change but motivations continue to stay the same) the life, — a jagged emollient, it bargains in the weight of words; inevitable, it bleeds flattery' cosmology of so-called gods on so-called devils; humans tame humans, (but) who are those more wildly than the others (...‽) who are more dangerous, — the friend or the enemy (...‽) (the one who's kept outside the door or the one let inside, consuming all) (who evaporates first while blames you for each and every thing...‽) where's the boundary of the friendship to cope with not getting fucked down (…‽) why others know what's better for your life when their first rule is to feed you with fear (robed in translucent silhouettes of times,  reincarnat

  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

i bloom with the dawns when i don't spend time with night, (engaged in my dreams) ⋯ on dreams' lips i am the touch you long for, (best thrill), if i'll come running ⋯ love's strength get us drunk, but so do the dreams and hopes trapped in our souls' whirls ⋯ we live time as it's, — (without past and future), just lust for each other ⋯ moaned the day and night, intertwined since forever through their present time

in my head is the moaning of a night, — (a hypnotizing night), named after you, you, the one who loves to listen to a song, housed in the bedding of a hard drive ⋯ sweetly, breathing my worldly fullness, an inventive kiss, from that exact time, has migrated in this status quo, reviving so a dream, to erect your untamed nature ⋯ a secret flows from an annex of the heart, examining and tingling my lips, tactfully, while your smile, [moisturizing my breasts], moans like night, [love is sweet] with you

  maybe, (...just maybe), (out of there...), you are watching me with the same interest and affection, seraph angel (...at least, like that), I allowed myself, today, to think, to feel, to love as the child I was, and the woman I've become customized ...kissed on the soul, on noise, on silence, on the dark, on the light, on humidity, on febrility, with your inches of life touched ...by the pasts you took, with tons of happiness which you left 'em, to me, — (a little heartbreak girl) in a world that's charade and fully ...weighed by all odds at a fake weighing scale, right as you liked to joke, as you got me honed and nestled on dreams' shelf anchored ...embosomed, and scented, and snoozed, and waked, and nurtured, and tutored, by cell structure of a DNA where the joy is naturalness ⋯ 🤍💐🔟

when I wish to sleep, I sleep captive in the fiber of the dreams that float in my mind ⋯ your shadow in my light savors a song's color, infused in my soul's nectar, wrapped in what I wish ⋯ when I wish to see you, I see you as I penned you in the endless sound of my atoms, played by you ⋯ gamer, sailing in my ear, you wait for my whispers in cochlea's curved nook, to listen to what I wish ⋯ (when I wish), a desire smiles on my lips, and through my eyes, having as watcher, a dream that floats… through your mind

⟮good morning, my love⟯, — it's my lights' charming effect framed in a smiley kiss 𓇼 ⟮the midday greeting⟯, — it's rays influx from suns' eyes flaunting lunch meeting 𓇼 ⟮the evening's hello⟯, — it's bliss, it's contentment with treat, music, film 𓇼 ⟮nighttime yawns with joy⟯, — the moon and starry sky stalk cheerful soothing time 𓇼 each greet browses me while I think and look for fun, flirting with life's plans 𓇼 ⟮so⟯, — salut, allez, bisous, — it's facile to relate to ⟮while we socialize⟯

each single poet owns only one religion, — is the cult of being enamored hypnotically; their fervent prayer is nothing but love, — their attire, from head to toe, it's alluringly; happiness and sadness bear one name, — passion... (maniacal and sensual at once); they are uniquely ones free to fix your soul, and like antidotes, excel in dissolving pains; the whispers of their words, perfumes you, their delirious smile is tactile music of life; if you're lucky enough to be kissed by them, you'll feel their art inspiring your hopes, up; and they'll choreograph your moon and stars while their sun will dream with you frenetically; seduced, you'll slowly unbutton your blouse, a little more... — making poets much happier; subtly, you've been lured into their secret world, all their thrills did something to show yourself;

it hurts, — ⋯ it hurts me to see some misunderstanding just cos I say too often, — I love you ⋯ it hurts me to see some dismissing my eyes just cos they're smiley for you spread on me joy ⋯ it hurts me to see some screechy haunters detesting with no reason your tiny knitted kisses ⋯ it hurts me to see some scandalmongers for they feel abandoned  just cos you light me up ⋯ it hurts me to see some souls' phariseeism just cos I sugar you fervidly as you give me that feeling ⋯ it hurts, — it hurts them a lot ⋯ it hurts me only five minutes

show or give to some people a little of your kindness, and at a time they will treat you with infirm feelings (life has the severe ability to make you feel this climate) ⋯ don't correct people's mistakes, in the end, their egotism will do that for them (life has the very ability to teach you to be an observer) ⋯ sometimes, people's characters shift up or down, similarly to their greatness or vileness (life has the exquisite ability to make you think in how to cope with people's imbecility) ⋯ some souls are energy, spreading out optimism, but other's souls are impotent, scared by their shadows (life has the telepathic ability to inspire you and detect what includes the value of your happiness) ⋯ nevertheless, we accept to coexist in this idyllic world, on a fraction of the sky, on a fraction of a dream... a.s.o. (life has the full-time ability to keep us occupied letting us the greatest and most complete impression, —) ⋯ we do much by doing nothing else but living in

beyond my window is you talking with I don't know who but looks as if you're talking with me in an irrational dialect radiating so, in your eyes, the entrance towards my soul beyond of you is the moon, — the window toward dreams, where some dogs bark to guard fancies' sheepfold by some stars that lurk if you talk with I don't know who but looks as if you're talking with me beyond these hazy thoughts is a porcelain tome which tries your imagination to ask yourself if you are the one who's beyond my window, barking like a dog, guarding fancies' sheepfold, lurking the stars in my eyes

your glinting light peers into my deep darkness which pulsates when it hears your dulcet tone your ember, savors along with the sky's intuition the stamina of my body as you move smoothly your light, the thought, my darkness, the dream, are looking for each other on the music's waves both, learned to dance with each second offered, minimizing the distance from the mood we're in (whispered the kiss's butterflies, detached out of the dream I am not any, but your lady love divine to the thought you're not any, but forever my love)

In the earthly bit of the day, I dress up in the sky's scent. The sun's rays, like beads, adorn my neck. The accessories of my ears are grounds internet's playlist. On my lips, velvety and soft, reflect the smile's tint. Listening to my thoughts, the wind creates my hairstyle. The sea is my mirror while my eyes hum time's beauty. Out of nowhere, playfully, a thought climbs in my mind. I salute the life's mood and continue our chit-chat. Maybe an eye of my soul cries, but surely, the other smiles. If I feel confused I'll be fixed. Nothing happens randomly. Life is stuffed with anything... I breathe it. It breathes me.

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 the four-day creep, we're in, when I am yours at infinite, and 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)

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)

I'm asking nothing for. I ask nothing from you, and yet... And yet, — if you would want, — oh, if you'd want to give, to me, what me, I didn't ask for, — perhaps, you will transform the sky into the sea, and sea, it'll transform itself in endlessly romance. ⋯ I'm asking nothing for, but if I were to do it, — would be about something like this... — ⋯ Give me the joy I give to you, and happiness, and smile. Give me the pearly whispers and the well-being spell. Give me the kiss I'm thirsty for, and thrills, and tenderness. Give me the dream you long for, but give it in the name of love. Give me the time and pleasure. Give me... (you'll hear me saying), (see you at night one of these days when poets' dreams dream still) ⋯ I'm asking nothing for, but if I were to do it...

Your dream gets in my dream whenever wants. There is no any other power able to control it. There is no prescribed mechanism to forbid it. The bewildering joy and the groggy happiness are dominating both dreams. Mine and yours... ⋯ The key to explore a dream in a dream, belongs  only to beautiful people. The rest can only hope. But hope is perverse. And botch the appearance. And sometimes, steps on everything, arrogantly, aiming for having even what wasn't meant for it. ⋯ It whispered my instinct, verified by all my souls which live in my soul and nourish my entire being. ⋯ All the souls of my soul possess their own source. Dream has its soul. Why do you think I dream‽ Writing, too... But so has the laughing. And so on... ...the Love. Why do you think I love, and I'm loved‽ Why your dream gets in my dream as it please···‽ ⋯ (giggling), (mysteriously blooming), (kissing... me)

Unblemished, I let my smile roving on the alley of the metaphors. Metaphors which, once, peopled one's shadow full of sensations. Sensations tamed and boosted with an implausible profile pic. Pic with the parts of its aspects lost in nothingness or joyfulness. Joyfulness with moving feelings, and thoughts wondering… why's‽ Why is late yet early, and why is far yet closely, on poets' boulevard. Boulevard accompanied by craves, gesticulating longingly, the passion. Passion of the nomad me and others, fermenting loves on metaphors' alley. Alley with paths to light and dreams, like a switch at the call of the love.  Love moaning,  — (let only music cry), (there is no medicine like the blues).