Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

Because beyond my eyes there is the sky with the stars in your eyes. Because at confession, my soul hasn't kept the mystery of the poetry you are. Because you know to read among the rows, among the seasons, among all the points and all the unspoken commas. Because towards me, you were written like a novel of amorous fiction. Because you met me all the way like that love at the corner of the street, thinking that I am to everyone when I was just your song and not of someone else. Because I lived you as two lives in another life sharing all kinds of emotions that some never heard. Because my confessions became yours having the spell above of the sinner and the culpability offered clearly, through the eyes and eyelashes of the fragile balance of chemistry and of everything that could be kissed. Because I've been searching for you so much and by a sublime chance, I've found myself. Because your prayer to your God was with me and all my thoughts returned again to you, I'm no...

I can write to you only about everything I can not tell you... just enough to not disturb your dreams with me on your site. I already know your wireless feelings are hidden each night thru the fated days under the keypad circuits of your inbox. So deep you're fixed to be with me as I am with you in mind.

i was wondering if tomorrow will be heard in my sky's soul some acute echoes in your spoken language, attired in some incantations with proper inklings, while ingests tasty frissons just to lean the fog in spam, sufficiently to can be seen my spectrum's chromaticities in the smoky apparition of your black-golden beam, wrapped in the suave scent of a wild Irish rose, fed by me‥

I'm going to seek for you through all the beasts of my hamlet and yours till I’ll get tired, and then, I'm going to take it again from the beginning. You will rummage beyond my eyes and you'll seek for me inside you like a medicament soothes a body. I will send all the wolves of my soul to catch your trace and sniff the scent that’s been anointed by my wild heart. You will send all the guards of your spirit to look for me through the place where we kissed each other for the first time and where we used pseudonyms designed nicely, to look like a confusing plastic love instead of names. Like that, you'll wander through each path, gracefully beaten up with the finesse of my steps and sculptured by stones in a delta, just enough to cheer my ankles. Then, you'll run like a mad one, howling through the valleys of my mind, and through the mountains of my senses of the woman I am, but also, through hilly hills of any story of ours that reminds you of me. Only after, when yo...

❝ your steps, children of my silence, ho-lily, slowly placed, towards the bed of my vigilance, proceed dumb and frozen,     nobody pure, divine shade,     that they are soft your steps selected     gods… all the gifts which I guess come to me on these naked feet, if of your advanced lips, you prepare to alleviate it an inhabitant of my thoughts, the food of a kiss...     does not hasten this tender act,      to be soft and not to be not,     because I lived to await you,      and my heart was only your steps...❞

everything it's in the speed, — delirium as far as the sky, —  we are in antithesis, the subjects of a dirty simple game 𓇼 my shy eyes descend desirously... but I breathe you in this urban decor 𓇼 she's killing me, she's killing me, slowly... she wants my heart, she wants my heart, from my chest; 𓇼 she's so gracefully among of bored crowd on the road and seems a hidden dance, where two strangers submissively dance 𓇼 my shy eyes descend desirously... but I breathe you in this urban decor 𓇼 she's killing me, she's killing me, slowly, — she wants my heart, she wants my heart from my chest; she's killing me, she's killing me, slowly, — she rips my heart, she rips my heart from my chest; 𓇼 burning on the asphalt and pulse the fire, it burns, burns shockingly burns too beautifully, the heart it burns, it burns, I confess... 𓇼 she's killing me slowly, slowly she tears my heart, oh, yes, — from the chest, the bitten lips are trembling slightly and gra...

your heart, beyond any doubt, it's illiterate, — otherwise, what excuses I should find for it, (forever from now), — when it conjugates at imperfect, love's verb, as if it adores to watch me blazing in the beam of a sunset, when my body is pampered and blanketed with the shadows of your kisses, — entirely out of control, in searching for more, devoted to a perpetual exploring, (where's my girl ؟?).

The common cards, – known as hands, are dealt… — You express the impassivity as no one to read you. This blindly game, the curiosity, – do it in slow motion. The dealer looks at you, asking what you're betting on, and you, well, you know you've got nothing more to do than a full concept, – straight – or an improved suit. Whatever kind you choose, it's perfect. Cards, are shown. The house always wins. And you know you're lucky by a good hand when you've been falling in love with me.

while the nighttime unwraps me to scent me with you appearing from a playful beam of the moon, the daylight metamorphoses me using incantations of the flowers in your daydream profile of love

The imprint of our love, it's everywhere. From the missing people with the APB, until the scene of flagrante delicto and facts. The traces are on all flanks, far and wide, thoroughly. Nonentity and nothing can immaculate 'em. We are doomed to a punishment without the verdict, to be haunted forever by this absolute emotion which survived beyond our first meeting. This feeling, the freedom for the soul and thoughts, never left us alone. With suspicion and courage, we always returned to this place of this poetic sample, without misstepping in the whirlwind of passion, but strictly for this love... the taste for music. Every time we took for proof our looks, our hugs, our breathing and our heartbeats, basing us on the palpitations of our minds, chic, whispering to each other, — (the carousel of mine, it's you)

At this hour of whichever month, I imagine how you take me by the hand for walking together through that kind of time where we could suspend the timepiece just a little bit, only to feel the scent of your perfume on my skin and the fever of your fingers which is equal to the temperature of my hot pulse. At this hour of whichever month, the past, the present moment and the future gets decomposed into yesterday, today, and tomorrow making my moon to play with your sun promising that the sunrise on your side it will play again with the sunset on my side. At this hour of the whichever month is a kiss... incalculable kiss came from the past to the future, — and your mouth smells like a flower of the moon, and my taste is like a frosty sun... and true love looks like a poem wandering through a melody... — set to ask if at this hour of whichever month, do you think about me

what a good, — that you are what a marvel, — that I am of the miracle you are of the happening I am like colors that never met one too high, — one too low yet identical, yet chess mate yet you, yet doppelgänger

I think I need to invent another alphabet to compose inexhaustible stories for you to get drawn on some of them. And I think stars should be the orator which shall have to read... to you some fancy-schmancy literature well-defined in a berceuse sound able to drag you in sweet dreams classified in intimate aromas when you'll wish to be absorbed with different seductive sentiments... seductive sentiments of the morning, — having top note, – naughty seductive sentiments of the daytime, — having heart note, – a privy gentle solace seductive sentiments of the evening, — having base note, – an irresistible love and in-between, — all seductiveness, — having intermixed notes, similarly to any cosmopolitan moment harmonized to an Indian summer, smoothly hugged in winter's tenderness.

I can love you only as I want. Could be politely or disrespectful. With tiny kisses or brutal kisses. Could be locally or universally. True-blue or without scruples. Into a safe perimeter or in a vision. Through lyrics or sound of a song. Premeditated or unpredictable. Like a gentle cat or like a lion. But I will not love you as you request. It isn't any satisfaction guaranteed if your love has a date of expiration.

He turned to her, running his hand up her hips then across her belly, and down among her legs when suddenly he turned around to watch tv... Astounded, she asked him, - "Why did you stop"? "I found the remote", - he replied. "But it’s a wonderful time for love", - she bumbled « ain't got nothing but a dream on me, you've got something that I really, really, really, really need... — AˢSᵒᵒⁿAˢPᵒˢˢⁱᵇˡᵉ »

(you...), you're everything I understand and  don't understand, at one and the same time on the wall of your thoughts, sits suggestive tempted visions, cocooned in a martial love opting to do nada, I fed the interest of some, [their minds were already affected by stupor] each day's mood became a modus operandi, [you do something to me... I do to you...] plus together, stirring in-depth the pyre of passion, we lured the audience to adore us... naturally [I...], after all, I am everything you understand as you did it once, [a star... wishing on a star]

thru the love's poem, — traveling, with the silent voice of yours adorned magnificently in me, i listen to your caresses, — your caresses are so exquisitely, watching my dream smoothly sliding on the limit of your lips, — your lips are so sophisticatedly, stepping in the dispute of my heart that digests tendency's breeze, — tendency's breeze, an aphrodisiac, howling without fuss, to ingest you, inside the goodly bad love of mine

suave, she approached, and whispered to him something...  chic, he phrased his joy i love you… my devil… do you love me, I need to know… confirm, please, he says… …on the longing's heart slips wild my peony's sap… …verse you love to sip

❝ On va s'en faire des matins, Les croissants dans les draps, Juste toi et moi, Tu verras, ce sera divin. On va s'en faire des câlins, Allongés sous les draps, Rien que toi et moi, Tu verras, ce sera divin Nous deux, Nous deux. On attendra tous les jours Que le soir vienne et qu'on se retrouve, Impatients comme au premier jour, Notre amour est sûrement plus fort que tout. Ou, si tu préfères l'espace, On peut s'enfuir sans laisser de traces, En ignorant les lendemains. Tu verras, on sera si bien Nous deux, Nous deux. Elle retourne la question, Elle a le regard fixe, une obsession, Mais, oui, il a raison ! Et, tant pis si tout se casse, Tant pis si un jour nos deux cœurs se lassent. L'amour passé, jamais ne s'efface, Notre histoire d'amour gardera sa place Tout au long de nos vies, Et, tu verras, on pourra se dire, Ce sont des bons souvenirs, C'était un moment intense de vie Nous deux, Nous de...

me, standing over there; you, watching over me; waiting, smiling, making no mistakes, blessing what is hidden... the joys, the caresses... all  in a beauty endless alchemy

My tranquility has colors. It's ROYGBIV… The treasure one is art with a predicted scent. It smells like wildflowers. Yet, my sonority's power sounds like a well-tuned piano. A white piano… And yes, my peace is smooth. I hear nothing… The nothingness is sweet. My tenderness feels fine. Is dainty like a velvet. Blue velvet. As is my love. Sprightly like honey. A lavender honey one. Captivating. But if the hate is bitter, if the indifference hurts, if the tears are fame's vapor, it's not my job to define it since my way of loving is ambrosial… is silky… I live as blue as the sky, I feel the spirit warm, I live dreams and, when I wake up, I refuse to see that reality could be an aphotic, so over-gloomy. The magic of the cosmic symbol has spread its power all over me. I live only in the honeyed and warm colors of the rainbow.

morning's desire was to yip all day by comforting you as if I kiss you any change transpires in intonation, making each sound disintegrate if there's any confusion, eject it; feel just my murmurs of love sip a coffee on your dreamy road, tinted by a bitten windy wave in a spiced perfume of peony, joy, mint and citrus, feel me, wear me in your hot thoughts, let it be just me, loving you at the divine frequency ⋆⋆⋆ roused naturally, morning's desire, cooling me with its damn hotly scent

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 ...