a response you can give to someone, it is one that's been expected, even if no one ever asked you any question; the wonder is that can have an impact, (an odd one), like a 13-minutes' pause at a black coffee with a thrilling boom; it helps anyone to gain an enough idea about someone, (looking like a ghost) while receives an unwanted message, – (error 404) even if it can't stop be dreaming of you

I love you. — I freaking love You. You lit up a fire inside of me which I've been not able to cool it down since I laid my eyes on you. If you want to explore this further, then let's take a trip together... I'm yours, you're mine, — equally.

hello, lovely dreamer, — you're lost in the realm of my wildest mind; the mystery is dressed up in simplicity; the cigar, — doesn't have to be understood; smoke it; love me; you're doing good; your love is hot; you got me in you;

Winter```? Ask me nothing December```? Like I'm haunted  by some hauntingly happiness… Merry Christmas, Baby 🎄

You should know by now, when thousands of thoughts are floating in my mind, there's not any occult thought. So, please, leave any ammunition at the entry of my agnostic soul. I already metamorphosed you into that entity called, — friend celebrating you each day. Also, I spoiled you with a pseudonym full of romance wrapped in the color, which you know I like it much too much. Therefore no matter where you are absent, you're present in me, for you let coming down slow, a blueprint all night long, like each day for me... an out-of-nowhere girl...

hé, une tasse d'amour, s'il te plait, mais pas de sucre, pas de crème pas de jalousie, pas de reproches, pas de perfidie, pas de méli-mélo, pas du je t'aime (moi non plus), —  ah bah d'accord, — daddy cool…؟

he, in an atypical way, observed her hair hugged by the sun, then her skin stained by the stars, — stars so delicately sanctified in scent's spell of the queen-of-the-night ▫ soon after, his eyes got set on her, — his mind got fluidized, intercepting gently, the fairy essences of her body, so ripened, so greedy, so overflowing as he gets lost in her mirage ▫ in the meantime, — the stormy whispers of her soul have exteriorized, warning and pushing him to see her that she never sinned but in her dream, a dream of a banned love, — [now set aside]

Did you wake up before me to watch my nude winding through the bed's linen and playing by itself with soft lights and shadows, gallantly offered by a semi-open window ‽ Would you like to see me opening myself in front of you, exactly like a flower, dreaming of a summer rain while you, with your lips, make with an extreme pleasure, circles of petals on my skin, for offering to me, frissons ‽ Are you the bumblebee that's using its needle to get in my open corolla, bringing butterflies to my stomach, to make my body take the shape of a harp perfectly harmonized with the creak of the bedstead‽ Could all these be just an aroma of some memories when each murmur of mine got lifted by your spirit, to be scented and softened with many whispers of love for fulfilling our photosynthesis ‽ Explain to me… Even if seems bizarre, I don't know much about Love. ‧ believe  me,  I love you times infinity , I could be anything ,  my Love , an  innocent touch for which  you would h...

The mouths were created to can pronounce, through the touching of lips, the words. And yet, the most powerful word it's the non-word  combined with lips of another mouth, asking... softly let me kiss your lips

today's theory indicated love has been defined as an integral extracted out of exactly moment when i saw you for first, taken from the infinite on the function, (i) — argued as being the ratio of any variation, due to my body's methodology and soul's constancy, you, growing in my mind, walking through my dreams without any option, without perceiving the nasty of me needing you, [not literally] but as a kind of maneuvers' friend

a way with words, it's a happening what didn't happen, but somehow happens through our mind, you to be, me to see, me to be, you to see, what's happening when nothing's happen as we thought sure will be happened

no matter what we preserve to do, we're guilty of everything, even if for the most part, our mind tries to unleash constructive emotions 🎥YouTube  — mind

❝ Every day you play with the light of the universe. Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water, You are more than this white head that I hold tightly as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands. You are like nobody, since I love you. Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh, let me remember you as you were before you existed. Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window. The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish. Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them. The rain takes off her clothes. The birds go by, fleeing. The wind.  The wind. I alone can contend against the power of men. The storm whirls dark leaves and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky. You are here.  Oh, you do not run away. You will answer me to the last cry. Curl around me as though you were frightened. Even so, a strange shad...

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…

perfect night, inundated with quintessential dreams... — shapes your silhouette 𓇼 love doesn't make mistakes; knows to amplify your essence, deep enough to keep you dry

If my heartbeats were a melody, probably nobody would listen to it on any radio, for nobody is anointed enough to record an unprofitable sacred sound in a studio... If my heartbeats were a melody, it's nothing to worry about because even the song «will you love me tomorrow» has been forbidden for a long time ago till became a hit. [some didn't understand that love can't be censored or kept in the shadows...] If my heartbeats were a melody, probably, you should download 'em from a dubious site, so well sheltered by some with square heads. If my heartbeats were a melody, no one would know how to obey in front of it.

sur toi, te... tant de sur toi, te... mon appétit, par-dessus tout, énormément, en murmurant,— tant de sur toi, te... sans être révélé, caché, de quelque part et intense,— abondamment tant de sur toi, te... comme marque-page entre Vénus et Mars, sans gravité avec gros G et péché, chaque nuit, formidablement toujours  beaucoup, — tous les jours,   tant de sur toi, te... illicitement l'ombre absurde moonshine  exceptionnelle tant de sur toi, te...

where have you been, cos I looked for you, it seemed you've staged your fictionality, as if you've been there and yet absently exactly like a clumsy god preachin' blues

the look of love got you in my beauty, found and displayed in the jungle of your fugitive dreams, all tangled up and duly possessed by incantations with details created in an auto-da-fé, like a backbone shaker who adores to invade my DNA, to spin through me till compose my happiness, mastered in all what's written but not described, having an identity but not exposed... while holy glance looks so awesome in the window of a sensible address

I know you, You, the wildly one... — I heard your mysterious call... — The chirping of the firebird from your heart opened the shell of my dreams paying big attention to what your kisses say for when I go to sleep to dream about you

❝ In my sky, at twilight, you are like a cloud and your form and color are the way I love them. You are mine, mine woman with sweet lips and in your life, my infinite dreams live.       The lamp of my soul dies in your feet, the sour wine is sweeter on your lips, oh, reaper of my evening song, how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!       You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's wind and the wind hauls on my widowed voice. Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.       You are taken in the net of my music, my love, and my nets of music are wide as the sky. My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning. In your eyes of mourning, the land of dreams begins.❞

❝ My tactic is looking at you, learning how you are, loving you as you are.       My tactic is talking to you and listening to you to build with words an indestructible bridge.       My tactic is remaining in your memories, I don't know, how, nor with which pretext, but remaining with you.       My tactic is being frank, and knowing that you are frank, and not selling each other, simulations; So that between us there is no curtain nor abyss.       My strategy is, however, deeper and easier.       My strategy is that one of these days, I don't know, how, nor with which pretext, you, finally need me.❞ 

to your merry mind from sensitive me a... smoothly salute for ennobling you with fancy quatrain your body to dance and to caress you within joy's frisson faultless notes hum, g'morning, g'night, please stay, – collect each blue attitude for you to be loved forever accepted without being taxed just happily willed

with my hand, cuddling your hand, with my body stuck to your body, with my eyes gazing in your eyes, as if the hands only make sense on the skin of the other one, as if the lips have unique taste kissing their twin lips, as if the eyes can only find a sense, in the eyes of the other as if interlude à la désirade isn't you… isn't me… but just an aroma

My thoughts got me rambling toward a captivating shore, where nature's unleashed beauty, aroused even before dawn itself to get up to spread up its barefoot smile toward the sunset, shod with warm and tender moaning, patronized by my thirst and your thirst, for life. Agitated through a romantic ambiance, the thoughts began to waltz with some soft murmurs, choreographed in black and white by kisses' pulse, more or less, savages… but so fixed to oxygenate days of yesterday, today, and always.

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 it 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...

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 it'll be heard in my sky's soul some acute echoes in your spoken language, attired in some incantations with proper inklings, while are ingesting 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 ‧ my shy eyes descend desirously, and yet, I breathe you in this urban decor ‧ she's killing me, she's killing me, (slowly...) she wants my heart, she wants my heart, from my chest ‧ she's so gracefully on top of bored crowd on the road and seems a hidden dance, where two strangers submissively dance ‧ my shy eyes descend desirously, and yet, I breathe you in this urban decor ‧ 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 ‧ burning on the asphalt,   fire's  pulse burns… burns shockingly, burns so beautiful, the heart burns, it burns, I confess... ‧ she's killing me slowly, slowly; she tears my heart, (oh, yes), — from the chest, bitten lips are trembling slightly and gravity atta...

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 savor of 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 to walk together through that kind of time where we could suspend horology just a little bit, only to feel the trail of your perfume on my skin, and the fever of your fingers, which is equal to the temperature of my hotly pulse. At this hour of whichever month, the past, the present moment and the future, are getting decomposed into a yesterday, today, and a 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...— an indestructible kiss guided from a past to a future by your mouth, smelling like a flower of the moon to consume my saliva, felt like a frosty sun, scented in our true love that posed as a wandering poem, encoded in a melody, well set up to ask if at this hour of whichever month you think about me as I do too...

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