Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

take a sip of a rosy wine made with happy grapes in a hotly autumn one, intentionally to infiltrate in your blood and nervures, fairly to exhaust your mind with the photosynthesis of my exquisite essence, you to shine phenomenally thru my yellow moon's rays

you adjusted my body in some breeze, felt and seen waltzing through the seas, as well as my scent, designed in a night-blooming beauty, to bring to you each illustrated desire, intimated chic, in the navy tints of the sky you prognosticated, as if it was given to me to write to you with the holy visions' ink in the limits of your wills, grafted beyond a last sunset, a last goodbye, a mystique cliché, as nothing of what we did to not disappear, [ever]

here & now, — [an-alluring-dream] the breath, — [nuance-of-raspberry] aroused, — [the-kiss-is-justified...] ludic, [as-if-my-thought-is-in-yours] at the hour [i-look-at-you-right-now] cheered with... [Iko-Iko essence]

❝ Do you gather flowers for me moving softly through the trees with the scent against your arms? Long ago I knew your charms as I walk through the purple hills of soon-forgotten, know my heart was in your hand, all my heart is in your hand. Do your lips still call my name? Would your mouth still taste the same? There I learned the sweetest words, — Ooh, what the price of mercy, yeah! Though I steal all across the years the memory lingers on with my heart in your hand, all my heart is in your hand. Should I fall beside the road everlasting wandering soul and the memory sublime? All my, my heart was there, yeah! As I walk through the purple hills of long ago I know my heart was in your hand, my heart is in your hand. Ooh, all my heart, all my heart... ❞

we will go to meet today at this hour in this place; your heart will beat fast without knowing to react seeing the look of my joy possessing your ecstasy  in my sculpted silhouette, provocateur gesticulating [oooo…ahhh…] frissons, like no other human being; the place is set discreetly, enough we do not beware when we touch ourselves with complete naturalness in love's décor of passion

oh, you little one, — you look as if you'd been in the house of wolves composed or else, why, adequately, to play intimate strategies, just to occupy my thought with yours or both minds to be equally preoccupied to taste the whispers of one to the other or both mouths be guided by the magic drops of a soundless honey into the cosmic reveries or else why love is sculpted into the stars by the stars exactly as I'm here you're there, so-so passionately, dreaming

the scent of the night is contoured in the shape of your soul and mine; it's like a naive art painted in an imaginably wild style grounded in a world which, i don't know if it's mine or yours but surely is from a cosmic class, designed all in one to have as base, the love and immortality; we should've been stars — sweet love

The distance between us, it's the distance between good‧morning and good‧night. Give me the equator and I come with poles, but I don't know if you'll get faster than me or I'll get faster than you, with a new statement of intent or a new statement of distance for a new declaration of love in the metaphysics form, to tell you to tell me, surgically in English, murmuring, — I love you. Surely, — I'm gonna ask you to love me in your language, from the sun to the moon, from the early morning until midnight, even if the distance between us could reach 100 miles... or… 1000 light-years... My crazy love‧‧‧‧ good‧morning 🌅 good‧night 🌇

And comes Monday and Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, Sunday and again today, — and again I love you. Nor the time, and nor the distance doesn't change this chemistry, this endless connection between us. Nothing, absolutely nothing can pass through this prolonged and the profound longing that becomes from time to time a material, an unreal, a diaphanous, felt through the veins, making us fly... to what will come. It's today again, and again, I love you. Imaginary, put your hand on my chest and rotate it in the direction of the sun to turn my heart back in time, teaching it to beat as if it would beat in your chest, as if together could beat far and closer, softened like a snowflake. It's today again, and again I love you. Check my pulse from my wrist and count my years with yours and without ours, then paint my shoulders with the calendar of your love… Doesn't seem that's looking like the map of the world? We have the North and S...

should I make myself a coffee or a lemonade should I do what I want now or wait for later should I get to your harbor or to stay in my roadstead should I see each thing in black-white or in colors should I assist myself with a white wine or a white tea should I dress in a well-ironed shirt or in a wrinkled coat should I bet on the winner or to bet on the dreamer should I be your naughty or your sweetie should I wear you in my soul or to hold you in my mind ‧‧‧ well, which choices come online, always come thru you… my love

In your absurd world, I'm not lost, — I'm not lost at all. 🌹 I am adhering to you as you are, — a silent scent. 🌹 You're meandering through all of me until you distill yourself. 🌹 Freely, you make my soul worship to the sky and ground at once. 🌹 I'm possessing altar's place — the sea and the sunshine itself. 🌹 A soft breeze for you to recognize me and me to rediscover you.

i whispered three words stealing so your mannerly thoughts now, a fire burns inside you sustained with my blood's flame you know you can't quench it you're under my spell forever you're the essay inside my odyssey, [you can't hide] i feel everything

Don't look for the synonym of this day. Voluntarily I'm gonna tell you, — it's Love. Definitely, at this moment, you'll check your wristwatch and you'll discover that time shows you the equivalent of my pulse. Your very present invades my space, and exactly now, — your lips beautify my lips conjugating delicately the verb, longing.

I'm going to explain how I stripped you to love you. I metamorphosed you in music to listen to you repeatedly, on my hi-fi system called, — Love. Energy used by Love is not measured in kW⋅h, because it doesn't consume it but generates it. This device that's keeping the whole world awake by itself, decays the distance between me and you, making us as one mind and body, hungry for love. Knows to provoke, with invisible patience, signals duplicated by a sensitiveness sound uttered to dare to say instantly, Baby, let me take you in my arms.

time doesn't matter in the gaze of love when kisses levitate from your lips on my lips as if are a mermaid, — the one roused by you to lead my feelings with gracefulness at the intersection of your mesmerism, where logic is torn and transformed in a wildish passion piloted by your fingers that are swinging on my sizzling hips while your tongue... (ooooh...), your tongue pierces me up and down to fix some parts of my speech... placed, (placed), (in lots of apostrophes)

I love but simply, I don't know if today's love is the same as yesterday, but I can swear, — (without attention to details) that makes me feel as if I'd fly ⋯ I love and I don't know, — why the day of yesterday behaved enormously bizarre and didn't talk about what aptitude it has, when inside me, conceptual, today looks like the old day's one ⋯ I love but simply, I don't know if today's texture will be equivalent to yesterday's, but I'm expecting everyone to handle with time's translation of the adored one's ⋯ and I don't know again, but all of me transpires the colors and enthusiasm,  bearing the diverse passions' silhouettes today... like yesterday... to love... because ⋯ you love but simply, you don't know how heightened love will push you up to fly

close your eyes… count up to ten… i hid my desire disguising it in a dream   will ricochet in you as a whisper you should feel 'it around to yes, please

I don't know what you think about me, but I say with my hand on my fountain that I'm a river. So please, beautifully, come to my riparian valley. Wash your eyes in my water, so you can see me and to see yourself how handsome you are with your timid reflection mirrored inside my stream. Look at me and let me those drops that know how to dance an impeccable waltz with the time, one that reinvents your face in my liquid mirror. For being a river, I ask you to seat on my stones and to listen to about how and who sings to you. Walk with your dry soles in my water, as everyone to believe me, when I'm talking about how perfect is your silhouette but ignores me, cos I don't know if I really want you to swim in me, for I'm so afraid. I'm too afraid I'll stop myself from my own course. So better you taste my water, so I can flow, gently, in your body, upstream and downstream, shaking in you, and, with your will, me to become your font. I don't know what you think ...

happiness, — a thought... bonheur, — une pensée, — for you... [made for me], pour toi... [faite pour moi], it's a feeling's condition... c'est la c ondition  d'un sentiment and it's sexy... [torrid...], — et c'est sexy... [torride...], — it's a sought-after flavor c'est une saveur recherchée by many constantly, — par beaucoup constamment, superlatively, I loved you... superlativement, je t'ai aimé, did I...? [‧‧‧I wonder...] ai-je... ? [ ‧‧‧ j'me demande...]

My feelings carol you sending sweet love in your blood, unstable as a deep blue sea. My mind navigates like a ship toward you, and your love blows on me a beam touch of your longing, making wonders in me. Your thought got expanded a few seconds prior to my own thought, poised to meet it. There, somewhere, in an amazing province, your fantasy is sailing toward me, tenderly.

Pride has its own talent. Put it aside. Do everything necessary to bloom. Both. Me to you. You to me. Let me hear howling your wolves on my lips while the kisses are spreading love through our blood. In shades of blue, full of dreams, our astral bodies play with fire…

i'm tired of running at the same time to you and away from you to love you, so better come to me and love me too at least until i rest for a while, enough to teach my heart to conjugate you…

In what shades do your thoughts flow to feel the happiness you need? What kind of silence do you prefer for you to be comforted inside? In your mind's room, who's in charge of your own imbecilic mistakes?  I saw you arrayed in sinful's attires. None of 'em didn't camouflage you. And I don't blame you. You're funny and also, bizarre... simultaneously.

Did you ever love someone with interruptions? Now, you have to love me and alike to stop loving me. No, you didn't. You can not. The absence is felt. The aim that you hunt me is that you miss me. A lot. But what kind of fire burns inside me, you don't know. It's so big that not even an ocean can't quench it.

if you will step this way, with your lips slipping on curves of my body like a painter which sweeps gentle tints with its brush on canvas, — i'll see rainbows' spiral, i'll hear stars' magic vibe, i'll feel expert to switch, any astrophysics, says (...), a little monster, without false confidence to one who rests in blue, – la femme à la peau bleue

i love you… i didn't want to fall in love with you… if it's wrong, accept my apology, — forgive me…

I went back here, — to the scene of adventures, where I've come to love you so-so many times, where so serious, you taught me to use silence, and just how it should be scattered and released, and finally, again, to get it caught in my fists. I went back here, — to the scene of adventures for reviving myself in your non-earthly beauty, to let myself be abandoned through your desires and through the space and abyss of a fragile color reflected delightfully in the blue shell of your sea.

“on dit que la passion ça n'arrive qu'une fois...”

A scent you love to smell is I. I'm slipping slow inside you, like the sand in an hourglass, like the time in another time, evaluated at your °C degrees in the symphony of my fever, infused suavely in your dew with your eyes echoing glow to my unseen Venus mirrored in the art of your magnetism, – I murmured to yours dreams.

I know your name… It has risen every morning in my thoughts… but I do not say it aloud, too terrified that the poetry you are with the fragile cat's paw will fall apart somewhere, not where I wait I know your name… I whisper it daily enough to not destabilize the chemistry of us… but also, me to not be somehow incriminated, for my mind bears you deeper than the eye can see Right Back Atcha by Dave Keller

I'll never look for you again; take it as an announcement of love's declaration I've got; take it as a sublime orgasm totally lacked but it teased our blood, like a drug's heat; take it as a song met before of happening in a tiny poem hung, somewhere, thru time; take it as it is, a souvenir kind; enjoy how deep this river runs with all our facts tangled in it;

in the mysterious feminine romanticism stimulated by that escapade mechanism with that explanatory instrument brought charmingly by a deep eloquent allusion, — the visual writing system deciphers gently an image by assembling it to several frames for creating that distinct connection, firmly felt amid the feelings of those sensations so well personified by intense emotions, which, if it could be put in a tangible practice would be useless, spoiling any signification for love's a stranger of our chic psychology

each day is irresistible when it's shining from your eyes inside my eyes, walking through one glance of the virtual world of yours and mine with everything that's happening here in these random circumstances of your being in my being, enough for discovering in any individual day the distance that's within us measured by the testimony of reality, — a reality with strong and timeless feelings brought by a poem or a song, — câline, (as i am), mannered, (as you are)

the shortest way, from me to you, is the longest road from you to me, — could be the reason for which happiness gets conjugated at the past tense; you may try any witchery; white magic, black magic, using certain tools, invoking spells, formulas, methods, and techniques, calling supernatural forces, will not channel anything; seems ridiculousness, but loneliness takes care to remind you, — the happiness gets conjugated at the past tense;

let it be like a sweet suggestion  for each day to be combined  with the seductive and the mystery  created by a fascinating image  inspired by the holographic icon  of a trance-foamed melody  in poetic notes for which  one loves to surround you  in the echo of the blossom roses

I threw myself in the bottom of my stomach to catch butterflies with the color of your eyes I've been waiting on you in a visual aid sonnet with an intense pretext of my emotion in yours There's no interlude. Desires have the potency to reconnect me to passion sound's sparks to not miss you

Psst… Do you hear me? Then come with that magic as I’m coming up with a song to not hash out the spell. Bring with you an easel. Love is in an arch of colors… Let me be tinted in pigments of its symphony. Paint my heart in the sounds of its beating. Make it visible. The poppy’s crimson use it on lips while on the eyelashes let it be the summer twilight. Put the appealing color from the magician’s aura which you are, on my breasts. Spread it to my other symbols… Psst… Are you still coloring this whirlwind of feelings? You should add even more another deep color… Use it. Use a little bit of the blue light from the glitter of your eyes to be able to recognize me in these infinite touches of the sky which’s breathing in my love through the music’s silhouette.

Kiss my heavy eyes of so much cried, for just your kiss, it could be capable enough to quench my gripped eyes by evil fire and get 'em filled, with love and shine. Kiss my mouth, — my lips are clutched and they forgot the  smile and word's  sweetness; with the serenity, they're gonna smile again and fall in love with you, exactly like at first. Kiss my brow as any miserable thought and any kind of doubts to die, — bonus to be for all my dreams, a revitalization out of the spring, — for a new life... 𓇼 translation‧‧‧ ©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un p'tit je ne sais quoi ‧ chic… à ma façon

separated by a rectangle we're approached by music; in the evening hours,  synesthesia it's you, it's me and a glass of red wine a song floats through us balancing errorless our thoughts, majestically not in vain, we graduated the course of language, — …tenderly love in endless sweet colors, we're blooming joy; I am, — [lost-in-your-love] you are the… — [ K ]🎼

it's [13:13], — call it dreaming, call it relative freedom or call it architecture with changeable shapes that dances with my silhouette in infinite games chic boosted by your fantasies to the brim, — [love]

I would like to get into your dreams... — in those dreams genetically predisposed of being sober in the realm of happiness I would like to get into your dreams... — making them more beautiful, — at once

What can be done, when the soul is lead ahead of the seasons like if's a locomotive full of buds? What can be done, when the heart breathes the rainbows even if outside, the snowflakes are still dancing? Where to direct them, when the blood boils into the veins and the feeling is as if something stumbling them in a landscape with a wind of summer choked in some stalking gazes? Why when so many butterflies are flattering in the dew of the moon, the sentiment is as if are caught in a frozen light? How many questions are necessary when in me, you're already the favorite season out of thousands of dreams, and me, like a flake, in summer, in your arms, melted

your absence has heavyweight like a kind of kiss left out unshared it's like a clock that has the pulse always behind, [you], my sweetest thing

the most elegant goddess with her distinctively voice tempt you sophisticatedly in the jazz empire revealed through a mannerly context of the L‧O‧V‧E story rhythm brilliantly exposed for you ❝ I have thought about these songs for a long time. Being in the company of some of my greatest friends in music allowed me to tell these stories just as I'd intended. Sometimes you just have to Turn Up The Quiet to be heard a little better. ❞

It is winter. It is January. It is not a shrill morning but rather rheumatic. With whispers. Any kind. The whispers are expressing the type's wishes types sketched and tonified in the tint of sky's times. The time's matrix feels like a slice of a blue cheese with penetrating stench, making everything hide. It is difficult to see where your mind wants to go. So you look to nowhere, invoking mystic powers. In trying to get to you, I let a hypnotizing music play, hoping it'll find you, and you will send me a clue. It is winter. It is January. The radio waves cough. I'm still searching. Searching for a summer's sun. (summer's sun is you... winter's one is rheumatic)

I'm in as much as beautiful exactly as your love paints me. I'm in as much as beautiful exactly as you're using the grammar of feelings entitled in your mystery. I'm in as much as beautiful exactly as you combine slyly a smile impregnated in kisses. I'm in as much as beautiful as the most lusted, smoothened and hottest flavor enriched in selected ingredients exactly as you've dared to add them while you planned an escape to a tasty place for both of us.

❝ In the wave-strike over unquiet stones the brightness bursts and bears the rose and the ring of water contracts to a cluster to one drop of azure brine that falls. O magnolia radiance breaking in spume, magnetic voyager whose death flowers and returns, eternal a being and nothingness: shattered brine, a dazzling leap of the ocean. Merged, you and I, my love, seal the silence while the sea destroys its continual forms, collapses its turrets of wildness and whiteness, because in the weft of those unseen garments of headlong water, and perpetual sand, we bear the sole, relentless tenderness. ❞

The uncommunicativeness has fabricated the alphabet of silence, composing so the words from sounds, chic combined with mine and yours, plasticized in the inverted commas, because a title can be dotted with dots. When the scheme of the words gets to you, they kiss your lips, haunted in the nuance of a sinless flirt, blown through the murmur of a bizarre thought in the anticipation of some responses to the questions of my soul. Both our opinions palpitate in syllables, read and heard in some dialects written on the staffs with the echo's synesthesia, susurrated in the mirror of the sky, while you're in my mood, exactly as… eu quero, you, sighing out your fixation, elle et moi. “un coin d'une rue une enfant elle très belle très blonde quelque part dans la ville Elle et Moi un jardin tranquille un regard une étreinte un frisson des yeux qui se lèvent une larme qui coule doucement sur sa joue la douceur de ses lèvres Elle et Moi son corps vibre sous mes caresses nos souffle...