Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

my blood is kerosene with din, my soul screams out for love; the longing twined up my liver, spleen got curled into my ribs; your scent walks thru my veins, maddening my navel, inciting it; my shadow, dehydrated, howls as my eyes and lips feel so, too; even the hope, frank·ly, it hums to me, [your mood is my mood]

24/7 young and beautiful equipped with love's ember, my words' scent artfully prepossessing and chiseled in scintillating riffs, it benefits daily thru trysts on the writers' alley at the artists' club, located somewhere by the sea… by the lake… between sunrise and sunset that's why a few jealous ones don't rain with applauds on my poems' parade, that's why i know object to it, turning their actions in profit, that's why, i, as an alpha rider, i ride their nerves at maxim, that's why i'm surrounded just by nerds who rule the world, 24/7 young and beautiful equipped with love's ember

one day you are to me my gifted master-chief which gives aroma to my joy thru lots of love but on another day you're a deep-rooted one who set me not to walk that walk… too much one day you are the fancy face in my tomorrow and on another day the essence of my words one day seems is archives along with others, so, erase data, impress today, to get our late, earlier

Shhh… This is a privy conversation. A mysterious and pretty please kind. One between tender Moon and Sun. It happens somewhere far, far away in a bookstore of the galaxy, where the spoken language has the accent of their passion perfect symmetrically with the shapes made by scars of love and of their dominant longing. Carnal. This is a privy conversation. Shhh… It's not for watching it, but feel it...

you know i'm gonna love you until the end of the world, and then, i will wait for the creation of ever is happening, to happen, again and again, while both of us will listen to the same old song, (preferred and rose) by (me and you), the one who loves me and knows exactly how i want it

my alluring beauty looks like a bloom; even the street digests me, dumbfounded; listening and watching me, perplexed, the air around me drives in an abstract, making you look at me like an alien; but with all that, you approached me, tantalized, by my intangibility, and let your sentiments manifest intensely, asking me, — (like a bullet in the gun), pardon me, but is it wrong if I want to…