Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

honestly, I think I lionized you on a pedestal too high; loving it, you did it too to yourself, without any shield of security, otherwise, how am I supposed to explain the cause of yours getting in free-fall and putting me in the position of wondering if it is wrong to stretch my hand to help you, or if it's seriously bad to want to.

the manner I love it inspires birds to be coded distills light of flowers to grow up my dreams entire you to be wrapped and folded with them and any emotion to be assumed and balanced all your love's choreography to pulsate for me

in the canyon of sentiments, music conquers you through genus of its species as if she is the one which is listening to you…

magnetic, — nonmagnetic properly, — improperly constantly, — inconstantly at least I love you, — I do... I devour you silently, honey

Life looks like a carousel No, it didn't get me dizzy. Was just barely warming. Your majesty, another tour. And please, don't stop. As a privileged one, my inner feelings are a tribute paid in coins with the taste of colors, music, love. It's an entire patrimony always rewarded  with a ravishing smile of the woman I am and of that little girl hidden inside me...

timid, it glided smoothly the district of my gaze on your pent-up beauty 𓇼 chambré, dreams' lips, have braked in a flash above your poem's lips 𓇼 warmed, the tender view on the tread of this thrill began to gurgle an opus 𓇼 all that will be, is written as music dances with life, as i am dancing with you

She always cut their sandwiches into triangles Monday, exuding a damaged angel sigh… Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, were the shifts of the others…

Velvety fairy fingers, — mine's °○◯ Tight waist, nectarines bust, — my seductive appearance °○◯ Fine gold threads, — my ankles °○◯ Charmingly crystalline, — my laugh °○◯ Slithering smoothly lust, — my lips °○◯ Love in my eyes' colors, — the one I belong to °○◯ I'm not a saint... I'm better, — I am his… forever °○◯ elixir

— What do we need first  for our sins to be forgiven? — Firstly, we need to sin. — And after that? — Just spread up the love. I got all You need. I got You.

On the tiptoes, slyly, without looking back but just scrolling down, we’re going forward through one diaphanous steam. The breath, the eyelids, are wrapped up like at the beginning of the world without having burdens, without nothing, but just moving ahead, guided by the purity of light in pictures of any day. The paintings are shaped with sounds. The brush seems more that’s comforting us rather than giving us colors… by playing so tenderly with us, with a thin fog, with steam, with a black and white, where time doesn’t exist in the morning galaxy, but just a 6 am & do it again, instrumented with the fire in the heart in an equitable tint of the transparency. On the tiptoes, slyly, to not shaking life, we look to find ourselves for not wasting a classy love under a deep feeling that unfolds without being rather than be, in waiting for falling stars, for making happen, for taking a fragment, which even if is there, it’s perfect for being held, and to look almost like a happy time th...

You are the time. That time out of a past-tense. That time from a contemporary action…. That time out of the future. An unknown time. You are that kind of time hidden between the seconds made from hours and words for showing love at and after sharp…. You are the time…. But you're a dream…. Basically, in such a way, I met you…. At one midnight, shaking suavely, making me be irresistible in front of your bow and arrow, sent over-time, into a time, and out of time, in this place of the very here, where the clocks were forgotten to be spun, but having still, an independent functionality… all the way….

Are you sleeping? Have you walked through my dreams taking care for enveloping them with love? Did you find me hid in your soul contoured in a steam of the feelings, induced for me and the idea of love? Have you been helped by a song... ...or a mantra, to see me when you sleep? I know that I could be in your sleepy eyes anything you want, but most, I would like to be the best beautiful declaration of love. Keep me just so... (always......💕)

hey, — you… — the sovereign of my poetry, ⋯ open your voicemail, for heaven’s sake; you have several missed messages, — (some are mine…); did you forget you promised me you’ll teach me the art of love…‽ ⋯⋯⋯ (at a given moment, in a staccato manner, — the inbox got a moral asset); ⋯⋯⋯ Have you ever longed for a certain person who hadn’t had to be, but you thought how it could have been the two of you, together and not what wasn’t and never will be‽ ⋯ Have you ever thought it is out of date, to try, to wish and to know what could’ve been like‽ ⋯ Have you had the privilege of being shunned by someone who’s now amalgamated by a song without knowing if its echo will turn up to bite your ears’ ears, which fail of being apt to hear…‽ ⋯⋯⋯ I miss you. I miss you like a forgotten verse, uttered sublimely on what should have been, as if you’re a poet who hankers to get in me to write (without deducing) I might want you. ⋯ I miss you from some hypothetical time zone of a nameless future, (just as ...

Aujourd'hui j'suis entré souriant  seul dans le labyrinthe et avec calme, j'ai suivi mon cœur sur la route qui mène à ton jardin. Et les murmures volent dans l'air, et le jour ça fasse nuit… Un monde sans frontières se préparent pour le carnaval… (De tous ceux qui sont présents, uniquement les fous aiment, juste eux, seulement eux trouvent une porte dans le temps. Et de ceux qui ont traversé, seuls les fous eux savaient sur la sortie cachée du labyrinthe.)[r] Aujourd'hui j'suis entré encore dans ton jardin et je t'ai trouvé dans les griffes du désir vif entouré de lys et de statues, avec tes yeux concentrés. Tout le monde te regarde docile mais ça s'en va quand tu parles à eux et quand tu rappelles à eux que... (De tous ceux qui sont présents, uniquement les fous aiment, juste eux, seulement eux trouvent une porte dans le temps. Et de ceux qui ont traversé, seuls les fous eux savaient sur la sortie cachée du labyrinthe.)[r] 𓇼 translation‧‧‧ ©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un p...

Hé... Je sais que tu me vois. Je ressens que tu me caresses avec tes yeux. Tu m'effaces et me redessines... Et plus, je sais déjà... Je sais que tu m'entends. L'écho de ton coeur me parle quand tu ne veux pas répondre... Bienvenue! C'est la dernière fois que nous-mêmes rencontrons. Bienvenue, ami imaginaire! Bienvenue! C'est pour le dernier... fois. Bienvenue! Prochainement, je me réveillerai... suis-je exagère?! d◑◡◐b Nous vivons dans un rêve puisque les yeux du monde se sont fermés; C'est juste un rêve, ami imaginaire; Nous vivons dans un rêve puisque les yeux du monde se sont fermés; C'est juste un rêve! Comment est-ce que tu sais que tu n'es pas réel? Ami imaginaire,  bienvenue! C'est pour le dernier... fois; Bienvenue! Prochainement, je me réveillerai... ‣‣‣‣ translation‧‧‧ ©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un p'tit je ne sais quoi ‧ chic… à ma façon  

i appeared in front of you naked as my gaze's color; (how blue can you get...) i left you to lure my mind with hope and joy of days; each day became (today) created mentally, (salut...), it metamorphosed itself into topic ᵀᴼDʳᵉᵃᵐAᵇᵒᵘᵗYᵒᵘ‧‧‧ sunrises were lune-poems, noons were flash fiction, nights, a story in six-words masterminded by music from season to season love played its game well (nor friends), (nor lovers), as Mystique, as Mysterio, we acted... as characters we've frenglishly... deeply, we paid in smiley coins and we ended as we started... two of us, blue on black, playing “truth is like poetry even if most folks hate it”

maybe because of you, I know to read in the clouds, and maybe because of me, you know the metropolis of my soul maybe because of you, I know to draw a lovely thought, and maybe because of me, you found a reason to return to the place of the city, — Me maybe because of you, I know to explain your heart’s pulse, and maybe because of me, you have encouraged yourself to study the nervous system of my emotions maybe, I and you made a vow, or maybe, I and you got frenglishly up, so for what the hell do we fear anymore if the past has passed away so long ago

mathematical definable, 0.9(9) seems to be the decimal number which describes our love and which looks close enough if we're as one answering to our feelings won at climax hour from my soul and yours without anticipation apropos, what time's in you 'cause inside me shows exactly hour, let-me-love-you-baby

monologue, — I am to you only a stranger, not in a mood to offer you varied pleasures, not drop by drop to oxygenate your blood with the air of a forest that I dunno where it's, not to incite your feelings to verbalize words uncontaminated with suspires and longs or, like seagulls, flying not to a celestial sphere but into a mission only by them known… I'm not because I am to you only a stranger

would you, could you be mine, an incognito rendezvous, the one of the most beautiful and anonymously kind just to kill this fatigued ennui… promise I'll be a whisper if you'll be a gleam of fantasy, as if you've been wished me to say, — wish you would

we ceded to temptation and got caught in our dreams 𓇼 our dreams are velvety and made of stars 𓇼 stars bearing subtly our names 𓇼 names engraved with the colors of some future 𓇼 future perfumed jovially with the cosmic shape of love 𓇼 love orchestrated charming by you and me 𓇼 you and me, together wrapped in a fantasy realm 𓇼 once and for all, since then, till the world's end

when our shadows kissed each other, and our smells have leaned on our lips, and our core had so much of too many tricks to hold in music's balanced style with its sublime relish as we transpired, was maybe an alibi in trying to discern how it could be if it'll be when it'll be a dream's desire which doesn't give you /doesn't give me one moment of peace until its deep essence will be fulfilled, as we longed and begged for (all along)

I'm sipping from the moon, from the sin and from diaphanous hours, plunged in me in you in us to carry a bit of happiness. I'm sniffing from the nights, from whimsy stars enough to bring 'em in your soul from my soul filled with stories ripped from sunrise. Consider me guilty. Blame me for I'm writing these epistles. But my longing for you is analgesic. It's pure amphetamine... Is something translucent that turns darkness, teaching me to crawl in, among, and towards a light that lets you dream inside me... Is my climax syllabled by you, the chosen, — the one trained in the couleur menthe à l'eau, the one which my mind and soul listen to...

you're not a prophet in my prophecy but rather the ammo of my feelings... an eye-catching of something nutritive to liberate my fantasy generated when your love explodes inside me... enough to devour with mad lust your desire of me, described, qualified and disciplined in colors and sounds

with you, I feel like I'm drowning even if our love is using the omertà's code, even if thrills and rhythms of our hearts in our beauty is in perfect accord, even if we breathe exactly as we exist, from dawn till when the night is over, even if the longings slide in our meridian with tender kisses, (delish-succulent), as if, — 'even if' — is a vector that asks the other, if our irrefutable passion is increased

if may I not or if may I have a talk with you at a future date, it's too-too difficult to know the universe isn't authorized to make noise about our true feelings of this very present the dialect of memories can't be translated at the absolute value of our diurnal opinion as long I'm too sleepy to dream comparative, for inside me, it's love, while outside, it's you

I lost my mind entirely, and yet all I have to do is to hope and to let your lyrical whispers play in my blood enough to prettify a bit the cloudy weather from outside to feel the sunshine inside me... Now, in me, it's summer. «I got the boogie-woogie right down in my very soul... at blues power..»

the one who punished you did it with engineering art of wordsmith touched by an indomitable lust

I feel as if my mind twists and turns around you until gets dizzy and how my thought doesn't resist anymore in front of you and how my high and sumptuous ego scatters in your you, you, the one that's more and more rarely, so rare... — like me in this slept scene hooked on a feeling

do not ask me what i want if i want,  but better act, you to make me want  what you want, as if it's me, the one  that wants what in fact you wanted,  like me to want to dare to say, - you

i'm that kind of moonstruck by your quest, i even learned fast how to talk with myself keeping silently all of my spirited thoughts  spelled by letters of an imaginary alphabet out of a story more unreal than any unreal supported in the conjuncture of dreams' ink with the coffee taste, slowly slow savored, in music travestied, in addiction extended by a subtle thing... so smoothly teleported

a curative treatment buzzing in the light it's the sense of your essence focused on me if it's chaos on sheet music of my dreams you fix it with a sweet spellbinding kiss to me to any temptation or critical equation I am, you give it back a loving profitable solution for me

Do you remember when and how we've met in the middle of a speculative blue note song… I was on G+ (exploring stuff); by magic, (you…) appeared in that unknown universe with lots of galleries, as if you've been a quicksilver kind. Inside that space, some had barbarous profiles with plenty of pixels and longings to see. Then, you came into my sight like an androgynous with a look spoiled in dreams' circuit, adrenaline, and drama, and the pathed pulse at a click away. We dreamt of poetry, melodious lyrics, and voices with their souls hidden thru a keyboard or mouse. Your hologram maybe was seeking like me for an indubitable feeling and a definition, using a few subtle skills, to modify somehow our world. A bit.

❝ 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.