❝ dans la chambre de mes secrets j'oublie l'avenir et le passé les lumières sont [no ... suppose] et un plaisir intense explose en des millions de perles nacrées je rêves de tes caresses étoilées un jour, je t'appartiendrai et tu connaitra tout mes secrets dans le parfum du désir, je m'avance et toutes les envies auxquelles je pense deviennent peu à peu réalité des larmes fous comme j'ai rêvée tu sais lire dans mes pensées ce que je veux, toi seul le sais tu rêves d'amour et de beauté j'ai quelque chose à te montrer ❞

TᵒDʳᵉᵃᵐAᵇᵒᵘᵗYᵒᵘ‧‧‧ I put on me something explosively  opting to get attired with you… from head to toe…

(the scent out of me is, — you…) the arrangement of the bouquet uses the metaphor of music explored in an accurate structure to describe a sensual experience; the head — has the magical travel the heart — has a world of the dreams the base — whatever is in my mind   (the scent out of me is, — you…) taste is equilibrated in your tendency, (could you would you devour me...?)

Je suis perdu dans l'illusion optique, avec laquelle, tu m'as magnétisé et avec laquelle, d'une manière ou autre, t'as égayé la meilleure partie de moi… C'est un de mes mémoires d'un futur avec laquelle je vis en ce moment… — (dans ce présent...) — et pour laquelle il n'est pas nécessaire de me justifier... j'ai été, j'suis... hypnotisé par toi... déjà I'm lost in the optical illusion, with which you magnetized me and with which, in one way or another, you've brightened up best part of me... This is one of my memories from a future, I'm living with right now, (in this present...) — and for which there is no need for justifying myself... I was, and I'm still, hypnotized by you...

if I'd be asked right now, who's the best one for me, perhaps my answer would be quickly like this, — the best one for me is the one who loves me, is the one who knows to touch my soul with surgical precision is the one who's targeting with the top of words my thrills and my feelings, while offering me deeply and unforgettable experiences is the one who's transforming the fiction I live in non-fiction, caring for the music of my heart to not lose its playful rhythm and the priceless attitude is the one whose mind flies like invasive birds, or explosively, as if I'd be the only option, or the last bullet in a gun, whistling to spread all over, only pure joy

— « Can you tell me in a short complete sentence  featuring no words over two syllables, why exactly  I  am  in these pictures? — Theoretically, if you go to the past in the future, then your future lies in the past. This is a picture of you in the future — in the past.  — Say that again.  │ — Until?   │  — until...until...»

the flashbacks are vibrating pandemonium in my soul, — [feel you next to me…] my thoughts are monopolized by your thoughts, — [delightfully], [as usually...] you're moaning... — [while suavely, my lips are planting on your lips my name]; I'm your unique muse, — [once I'm called, I appear like a verse in your dream]; picture to picture, the fantasies gush forth, — [in your convoluted lascivious hypostases that I am...] energy temptation, heart, time, day, night, tones, love while flashbacks are vibrating metaphorically in my soul, asking, — why... why you're just a poetry...‽

yesterday I'd be wanted a sunny day and warmly wind with the breath of wildflowers... instead, I received a misty-chilly day with a foreign title of the Amazing Stroopwafels It's okay, — I urged myself while Camille O'Sullivan has been murmuring to me smoothly...  true love waits , — and one  game to lose, it's not the end of the world, after all, it intervened  I'm With Her . But it could become, if  « you're  the one who stopped to no longer dream  of such a beautiful thought », intervened  Lewis OfMan with un amour au super U

as if your thoughts cross through my mind and mine in yours… (we're an addict) as if a tempo, texture, pause, or intonation captures a unique nuance… (finesse) as if something else stimulates our perception evoked by emotions… (meant not for us) (as if you'd care)—— (as if I'd care)——

it's again that hour when your soft kiss slips gently in my bedding, waking me up in a dream out of a dream to a dream camouflaged in tender thoughts of yours bathed by the moonlight in the sea-foam with scandalous touches that are tamed to tempt you, be love in the art's paradox

My mind went somewhere… [far-far-far away], into a place from where has been heard a calling. Seem has been trapped… between the dreams. From there… it took me to a climate where everything appeared to be so familiar, but also bizarre… [as my name has been whispered]. And it wasn't like a murmur with cryptic sounds, but rather gently, wavy, like a sigh, like a… so-so, exact as only love could set it on someone's lips. So, I turned gently, daring to hold, in my arms and to kiss the one who inspired me, and deeply to radiate to it, my tact, my tender, my grace. Thereby, following light's path, anointed willingly in ghostly scent, a dream's been convinced be felt so burnin', so vast, so in you, so in me, so in us.

If I'd descend from heaven in your eyes, (like a trail of the moon), would you hold off your eye blink to not jeopardize my ray? But if I'd be disseminated from the sky, on your lips, with drops of the rain, would I quench your thirst with this water of mine? And yet, because the «if», is just a condition of the argument and the «would», just the tag line, then the answer will be clear, — you will be what you want others to be for you, — while me, — I'll remain a silent flame in an abandoned silhouette — (smiling...).

I woke up with the deep desire to be infected with the virus of a positive mood. You smiled. Staunchly, oozing like honey thru my essence, your moans, [don't ever leave me], are my juju. By echoing to me tendentiously, [you're mine], made any peeps translate it as being my name. I think about you, means, not to dream of you but [hold you tight] with the deeds of my longs.

full weekend, – a sleeping marathon without thoughts tracking thoughts, just a fusion of answers to answers you to be, [have-no-idea], using titles with perfect at imperfect conjugated for even apocalypse to be convinced that no one can't get enough debates when confess is rather a limited stuff so-so incalculable, or too-too versed

I knew there was hope when I drew the right conclusion, recognizing, I must let behind the vanity of their game; that kind of nothing else but cicatrices of their stupidity framed in lie, insecurity, enmity, [all that not defines me]; to wolves all around me with warped caress, i smile 'em

I untangled my words out of the coat of a deep blue sky woven with clouds. I knotted them with lots of I-Love-You. Then, with the needle of the night clock, I've sewed the moon in your eyes. Some said at a time that in your eyes is placed the meaning of the world, — but, me, I knew in your eyes sit touched the significance of any effect on us, cos once, in a first quarter of the moon, a lucky star has smitten in your sight. So I've been starting to see you brighter for the way you revealed yourself to me, vibrating and crossing inside my soul, using your lips with a devouring lust to open the padlock of my eyelashes, in craters of your dawns to scintillate.

Dis-moi, — t'es aussi proche de moi autant que j'suis proche de toi? Tell me, — are you so close to me as I am close to you? Y a-t-il quelqu'un qui a osé mesurer les distances à voix basse et des caresses veloutées, comme après s'égarer dans une vision utopique? Is there anyone who's dared to measure the distances in a low voice and velvety caresses, as after to stray in a utopian vision? Parce que si c'est le cas... — alors... rien d'autre ne me surprend plus Because if it's so... — then... nothing else surprises me anymore...

Feel me deeply from head to toe. Take me in your dream entirely and model me as your own lust. Let me see through your eyes how I'm moving into the abyss of your nights like a starfish. Look at me far and near, endlessly, as if I'm demanded to you, to see clearly my perfect delusions. Let your universe be set on fire in such intensity and sufficiently to feel the real you of you in me. Be in play as you been never before, as if your penance is nobody but Me for feelin' good and you to feel it.

the atmosphere of my soul is to listen to those who sing about you… [❝ if there's anything that you want if there's anything that you're missing if there's anything that you need ❞], — you, — wild love, sweet Babylon  

rough noises in my dreams, stirs restlessness in your soul; i check on you… you're fine 𓇼𓇼𓇼 (check it out), each day's moment, seems to be like a comic illustration, personalized through thoughts; thoughts attached to at least a mesmerizing song, exactly as the love's mood accepts its own ego; own ego has evil one too, who wants to be amused without justifying itself to no one, but on contrary; contrary to one, will be another, who's fully exposed and terrified by the fire of stress in a way amnesic; (so check it out), each day's moment so seems to be; (a comic illustration, personalized through thoughts);

❝ Is this love reality or a dream? I cannot know when both, (reality and dream), exist without truly existing.❞

it's a talisman wrapped in incantations; it's a mantra; it's a must; and it's not just to understand the words; demands to be felt till your bones, to merge with the lyrics... with the arrangements of sounds... with the artist's emotions, emanated through his gifted and gentle voice;

In the eyes of your runaway o’clock, I’m like a steam, carrying the scented subatomic unit of a magical time, attired inventively in the velvety equipment of longing. Motivated, the hour hand, points to me, very delicately, the graphic bulletin of your love traced colorful for me, while the minute hand swings in the rhythm of my pulse. Amazing modulated, following the silhouette of your lips, the contour of the sky lit up its precious part one ability, just to feel you, kissing my dreamy dream of the dreams. In a flash, using only one language (in passion’s dialect), our minds gave a harmonious voice to the desire, concocting beautiful, the most deeply Orgasmus effect. Gently, the muses have woven a smooth envious rumor for curious, while our bodies, metamorphosed in a miracle, are experiencing the metaphors of an undomesticated love.

What will you say tonight, poor lonely soul,  What will you say, the old withered heart of mine,  To the most beautiful, the best, the most dear,  Whose heavenly regard brings back your bloom?      — We will assign our pride to sing her praise:  Nothing excels the sweetness of her will;  Her holy body has an angel's scent,  Her eye invests us with a cloak of light.      Whether it be at night or in solitude,  Or in the streets among the multitude,  Her ghost before us dances like a torch.      It speaks out: 'I'm lovely and command  That for my sake love, you'll adore only the Beautiful;  I am your Guardian, Madonna, and the Muse!

from one end to the other end · from the first accord to the last string · from the beginning till the final limit · from existence to resistance · my love for you, your love for me, side by side, can't be stopped · we're starved, we're wild; lust's valise waits at love's portal · filled with plenty of tenderness transports us on time's orbits · our silhouettes full of energy motivate us to want it all · from one end to the other end · from the first accord to the last string · from the beginning till the final limit · from existence to resistance · my love, — your love

i'm your gift, your talisman, your treasure  i'm invoked by you through a mantra i don't appear suddenly for i'm your inner always from everywhere within forever i'm mirrored in your chameleonic eyes… i'm your love sung daily… Purnamadah

«She got a poet's spirit. She burns among the clouds. She never stops believing. She only dreams out loud. There's a jackpot on the dresser. She's smiling in the glass, and if you need to kiss her... don't forget your stash. And she gives it away. And you're fascinated by her. And she does it again with simple and brilliant desire, and she gives it away, and you're fascinated by…by her. She wears a million colors. There are rainbows on her soles. She got a sign above her that says, "I'm never growin' old"... You're askin' her to dance now, she spins a solid white light. She gonna' make love to you today, today, and every night. And she gives it away. And you're fascinated by her. Then she does it again with a simple and brilliant desire. And she gives it away, and you're fascinated by…by her, by her. She may be waiting 'round the corner of your mind, but still, you know she's there, you can...

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...

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 as spouses] but as the maneuvers' friends.

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.❞