Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

some think that a part of me disturbed you while in reality, you designed this diabolism, anything to appear as if we left magic gone, as if it was nothing anymore, [to explore...] let it be, let them think whatever they want, important is that our love feels like a Sunday

You love me so much that even your dream it dreams of me fictionalizing a minor acute of your philosophy pampered paradoxically with the structural capacity of your longings while the art of November rain with desires

Can you talk without having any knowledge about the one who supposed to listen to you passionately and conclusively? Doesn't it feel as if your voice puts your brain in a quandary? All you want is to read the magic of the stars. And yet, to do it, isn't essential to gaze into the eyes of the one who's loved? I found wondering myself, even as tempted, I imagined the lips of this enigmatic one, who's gazing at what wants to hear, while without getting pressured, it experiences all the songs' words. It's a vibe as if it reads me, wanting to identify on which side of the syllables am I sleep, and which word must be breathed... That one is dulcifying by itself with poetic thrills, ruled at a pub, somewhere on a roof known as the blue café, in a «yAyAyA» realm comparable to milky-way, as if I know what it's like to be not to be.

I woke up with the intention of touching you with some syllabled sounds, [caterwauling...] feel them inside your deepest hidden giggle; there I am one with the universe of yours... in those inner, our love is gonna live forever like a whoopie cat in its own meandering

« All night I have slept with you next to the sea, on the island. Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep, between fire and water. Perhaps very late our dreams joined at the top or at the bottom, up above, like branches moved by a common wind, down below, like red roots that touch. Perhaps your dream drifted from mine and through the dark sea was seeking me as before, when you did not yet exist, when without sighting you I sailed by your side, and your eyes sought what now - bread, wine, love, and anger - I heap upon you because you are the cup that was waiting for the gifts of my life. I have slept with you all night long while the dark earth spins with the living and the dead, and on waking suddenly in the midst of the shadow my arm encircled your waist. Neither night nor sleep could separate us. I have slept with you and on waking, your mouth, come from your dream, gave me a taste of earth, of seawater, of seaweed, of the depths of your life, and I received your kiss mois...

« You who never arrived in my arms, Beloved, who was lost from the start, I don't even know what songs would please you. I have given up trying to recognize you in the surging wave of the next moment. All the immense images in me— the far-off, deeply-felt landscape, cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected turns in the path, and those powerful lands that were once pulsing with the life of the gods— all rise within me to mean you, who forever elude me. You, Beloved, who is all the gardens I have ever gazed at, longing. An open window in a country house, — and you almost stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon,— you had just walked down them and vanished. And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate, in the evening... »

J’essaie d’imaginer quel genre de saveur I try to imagine what kind of flavor pourrait avoir tes pensées maintenant could have your thoughts now et combien de joie cela t’apporte-t-il? and how much joy does it bring to you? Sont-ils trainants de te toucher doucement, Are they touching you gently... [vaguement؟?] [je me demande moi-même...] [vaguely؟?] [I wonder myself...] Sont-ils comme un joaillier expérimenté? Could be like an experienced jeweler? Gère-t-il à te dessiner un sourire Does it manage to draw you a smile tandis qu’à l’intérieur de toi ça fait d'éclatés while inside you it makes burst avec l’éclat de mon amour, planifiée dans with the brilliance of my love planed in les mots bleus, — ton bleu, — my wave

huge scenic background of stars, of blue air, of art created by your universe in my galaxy, for the desire of action, of a delighting touch full of optimism, brightly colored with the hue of happiness for the promises achieved by us each day and night, when it was allowed to reshape our reality, and where nor even the gods didn't find it necessary to intervene, on the contrary, built many other new realms, endlessly in our fantasies to go on get in there

if in you I am the blood your vein, my voyage is of loving you at absolute unshamed with diligence music… story… poetry, any text… it's a pretext double vision fantasy in a deep blue galaxy a mirage in beauty numbed out of blue you're activated, too so within so without too it invites... to do the do

« I don’t wake up in the morning and say, wow I've got a great idea for a story. But I sit down, and I figure well, let’s see. I think people are interested in anything that’s a little bigger than life, and that’s colorful; and – you know, what they like? They like fairy tales for grown-ups. Singing a song, playing sports – anything that entertains; that takes people away from their own problems, it's good. There is only one who is all-powerful, and his greatest weapon is love. »  Catch Me Now I'm Falling

magnetic phenom are our silhouettes painted in dreams and divine poetries sublime… aporetic to make you and make me wonder, are you for real or just a foreign love

Have you decided on the menu, alien darling? I have the algorithm of certain timeless stars cocooned in warm and velvety sensations of a careless whisper in an unedited garnish, anointed with words' flavors, spiced smoochy in writing's realm, dipped through each slice of a memory dated by you, me, and deep one

I saw you at the periphery of an absentmindedly hour. Perceiving that, I've decided for good to not want you anymore in my mind at the borderline of another hour. I could give you thousands of minutes of reasons why but I preferred to let words get trundle ridiculous among the air of love where it's been said daily a tale. After all, in the realm of imagination, everyone can be replaced exactly as is replaced an image from a gallery, an address from a city, or a song with another one….

the tangible painting works of my soul painted you and doodled you without loaning palettes and nuances from somebody else touchy-feely infusions of your soul enriched me to enrich you even more with murmurs of light beads out of   music•art•poetry, — a ménage à trois living on love

(allow me), muffled me seductively, your sun rays that possessed my dawn, lending me the scent of your thoughts, narrated with gleaming attributes, suited to kiss the night in the toys factory from your fantasist mind, engraved and smooched for me, the only one, with willing velvety essences and with all dreams on it

if you don't know how to bite,  do not bark...  that's what it says on the tin

while you watch what I do, the entire cosmos vibrates in the rhythm of my mood; like an alluring tiny monster, my smile never secrets yours; [hates to feel you neglected]

Oh, my dear Lord, — I feel as if I'd spun myself around you so many times that even you got dizzy in your high ego with the princely attitudes scattered everywhere in your hellish trying you do you me with your voodoo qualified in endurance and absurdity to devour me like you move with it in it

my emotion got been written at the morning coffee with the ink of dream that dreams me… the influence of mine with yours spun up to the sky for blooming in a color's custody full of desires… our lust made us confess again, how wildly about we're to each other… then… everything around us smiled

take off your clothes, I wanna talk with you in the noble language of music and poetry made for you under the ritual of the muses disposed into the rays of the moon and sun to love you to love me all around the world using musicians' and poets' extravagance

moonlight, intelligent stars and a magic low incantation, using the art of dreams divided at 13 for me and you to be protected in those uncertain sentiments when love goes stumbling or is replaced by the devil you know, acting rough to our lust for life

If. If questions are the keys to all basic curiosities and one of the keys to the question of happiness imply sex and candy as a properly shaped answer, to incite any secret door of the psyche to get open in the soul of the fairy tales read at the gold hour for you to feel me, as if I'm with you, right there, even if I am right here, in a deeply cocooned test, sipping subtle some booze, while I'm surrounded by music that I've chosen to listen to it right now, picturing you. I'll always remember us this way. And that's even not complicated. On the contrary, is the perfect cover for lots of waves of laughter we brought to each other lavishly times. So again, shake it, baby... (as if you shake me in your arms).

you, — my dearest dream, the one that makes my physiognomy to be simultaneously wild and precious next to you, what kind of plan do you have tomorrow, and how do you intend to transform me, and in what kind of language you'd gonna talk to me, because mine will be set in deep blue dialect, as you, forever to percept me a gift of love omnipotent

in my universe, there’s another universe... even better, in your universe, there’s another universe... and both are so amazing, and complicated... and impossible... and yet, so deliciously are both dimensions... and animals talk and you... you're the sunflower...

avec ce goût suave du péché, — une chanson, sans élément de l’innocence, — un script, juste comme sont tes pensées à mes pensées, tes lèvres à mes lèvres, ta maniéré à ma manière

we are drifting miles away but we get along just fine, — browsers' sorcerers help persistent magic of net's air brings securely all mysteries at rendezvous of our spirits midnight-sun•midday-moon ennobles our waves' quartet, — we are where we are, — here

you know i'm gonna love you until the end of the world, and then, i will wait for the creation of ever is happening, to happen, again and again, while both of us will listen to the same old song, (preferred and rose) by (me and you), the one who loves me and knows exactly how i want it

What do you do at the hour when I miss you? I, culpable, I reset you sometimes… I don't cry… That isn't an option… for in sentimental moments I picture you as if you're a flower, a faultless fruit, to pick you up, to taste you, without a shame to tell you, — I love you daring pleasure. Mine…

apt, qualified, trained, disciplined, with love in jaspé step of sun's beam, is tacked tenderly, the dawn's colors a color is me, found in any tableau amassed from many songs out of life straight in the bottom of your soul, — morningstar is a passional painter using any maneuver to seduce me with [an absolute aroma if I want candy]

for I'm still under your spell, it's because of love, which, scanned in a guiding light, got inside my constellation, to create an alluring fantasy with the geometrical scent architectured by your smile in my tomorrow's thoughts placidly calculated for you

if you'd gonna disappear, in a random evening gloom, my sweet one, my bitter one, I'd sail crazy on the sea-foam, with a sack that's full of clay, and a back-full of twig-sprigs, to reshape you from beginning with the power of my hand; (long and monotonous labor, just to bring you back to life,  lovely femme adored woman), me, a sick Pygmalion... — c'mon, wander, Galatea (long and monotonous labor, just to bring you back to life, lovely femme adored woman) [x2] If you'd gonna disappear, be your death made of life only, my sweet one, my bitter one, I'd go to the ice's countries to rebuild you out of icicles, dressing you into a hoarfrost, — (after that, be free to leave wherever your dreams may lead); If you'd gonna truly fall at the moment of a high reveal, I would quietly come to you, recompose you out of angels; (I would quietly come to you,  recompose you out of angels) [x2] After all this, I will leave... — (humiliated and bamboozled) to the side w...

Are inscriptions through all your dreams that dream about me. They're written in the language of love utilizing the alphabet of heroes and saints, together to bloom through any appearance. Any self of me with any self of you transformed us into poems just to run from story to story created by the fruitfulness of your hallucinations which visualize me. Memories are seen even from the first picture. So extravagantly your love rocks, magically sheltered in the carrying stars to where you are...

his lips pressuring mine gives tenderly turbulence our archaeological elixir transpires carnal desire a feu rouge fueled to give, i am... (gimme your love)

I'm curious about many, and a lot; a lot of things. I have to do something, but also, I should try this, and that... even those, — so better do not disturb. Don't you get in my universe if you'll not succeed in grasping the manner I'm listening to a song, or if your emotions aren't linked with all the music that I've chosen to listen to. It isn't an experiment. The answers to many questions sit in waiting for a subtle happiness. That happiness of which size doesn't matter if in music are found the solutions.

songs that are elapsing through my verses gives you adrenaline excess (subito...) you are caught in ce petit quelque chose just like watching the wheels  

— Can I tell you a secret? I'm not very good at keeping secrets.    — What?    —  I just wanted to take another look at you. Look at me.          I love you! You're the music to my eyes!         They can't hurt us. We're far from the shallow now.

To define entertainment, happiness, love or whatever, it's better to be done, only at your own present time, isn't it? I'm feelin' good. ᵀᴼDʳᵉᵃᵐAᵇᵒᵘᵗYᵒᵘ is a Sunday kind of Love.

juste pour le péché d'être aimé de moi, juste pour le péché d'être aimé de toi... un message séraphique et suggestif, — [blessé par un bruit nerveux d’aucuns esprits imbéciles... et accusateurs...], flotte dans l'écho silencieux d'un rêve où j't'écoute chérie, t'm'écoute chérie, mimant ludique une passion charnelle 𓇼 ... si certains ne peuvent pas être excités par la musique, à quoi ça sert d'expliquer, basiquement, c'est juste la musique [... là]

coffee, — (sweeten with the honey of blues), hot, — (as in as much to feel its vibration), firmly, — (to wake up into a delicious dream), served, — (blueprint of your lips on my lips), when, — (what about you'll give me a sign), price, — (my only one smile)

Again, I woke up in my mind with you and your petite face, having the stench of a defendant with some uncertain sense. Again, with your pensive eyes, you gaze at me and manage, the whispers from your paradise as me to be transformed. Again, you've sniffed me and put me right to sleep, invoking what I wanna hear, me to be yours, profoundly and attentive. Simply like that, again, I am under your spell, an amateur, an incident, a song in all and any, or saboteur of a free soul. Again, so innocent, you morphed slightly in my thoughts, a symbiote who dips in me... perturbing (all my dreams...), (my judgment and my feelings), (desire… sex… and love...).

let me put it this way, (show you how), my thoughts are irreplaceable bijoux penned on your earlobe, take a look at you, as always, will kiss them (deeply), like a go-getter to listen to their poem adorned in love's attire i wear for you‥

Is it too harmfully to your lungs to inbreathe the air full of my love stretched out inside you? Is it too harmfully to your eyes get gazing in mine, while my kisses are spreading inside you? Is it so harmful to your liver to dive in my smile when you're so hidden in the Eden of my mind? Is it so necessary for you to make a heart transplant knowing already that's no longer yours but mine?

❝ This is true, my love that the lightning flashes in the light of your eyes makes the clouds in my heart explode and blaze This is true, my love that your sweet lips are red as a blushing bride This is true, my love that the tree of paradise flowers within you that your footsteps beat to the rhythm of my soul the night sheds drops of dew at your sight that the morning surrounds you with light from delight that the touch of your hot breath intoxicates my soul This is true, my love that daylight hides in the dark of your hair that your voice makes the world fall silent to hear your song and that the universe is nothing but your lovemaking. This is true, my love.... ❞

with your lungs in my mind I love you… — you breathe me so beautifully ⋯ with your heart in my eyes I love you… — you pulsate to me, happiness ⋯ with your eyes in my soul I love you… — your charming dreams are me ⋯ any subversive's acts of some are chased away... — and more I don't wanna know ⋯ all on my mind are murmuring I love you... — wherever, anytime, everywhere, forever

No. I'll not talk about me. I'll refuse that. I already saw how your light got scared tracing me at all gymnastic's apparatus of grammar's fantasy, which I called 'em, poetically, (free verses), (essences) a.s.o. No. I will not lend, to anybody, my shoes. It's risky. It'll make your darkness, as well, to hide, or even more, to evaporate itself. Also, I don't want that. You need a balance. I hope that your own wishes get fulfilled, and next to your joys and loves, will drip more drops of,  — happiness, love, money, healthiness, inspirations, and marvelous hours next to the ones you truly cherish. Hope your new choices be without errors. If I've been your life's mistake, I have hope you learned a lesson and will be no repeat. Hope you'll have a happy holiday. I wish you. My thoughts are true. Will travel to this space of the hazard. Some will find them, some not, some will simply ignore them. But it's okay.☺ As for me, I'll be around st...

About 60 km off Marseille, at Mouriès, in Bouches-du-Rhône, in a paradise realm, at the age of 94, the great artist, Charles Aznavour passed away leaving behind an extraordinary treasure of songs dipped in love stories. Piously, the world bows in front of him for the last time. Adieu, Monsieur.

the deities of the autumn run in my nerves under the stars of your sky, love; watching your smile talking with my smile, they perceive precisely what you need; like a dandelion in my dream's shell, you are; so vivid you breathe the air I breathe;

velvety breeze tenderly sun obscure cloud manipulates magnificently your murmurs highs and lows Tu m'avais dit — Filme moi

Dear dizzy fall day from this time of the year, even if it seems to be the season of the witch, I dunno what kind of strategy are you trying. To be accurate, I didn't imagine our dating be so grayish and cold and without your golden and brassy and cuddled and warm sunshades. Fortunately, I was inspired to put on me some perfume with sprightly notes, enough for avoiding any wrong situation, also to reinvent another story, with each part of your sun, inclined on me, to look shinier. Guess that could be one of your deep excuses, in your hurry to see me, and is accepted. Yet, do whatever's necessary to fix up your mood. Even implore a competent one for a prescription… — P.S. — (Do it AˢSᵒᵒⁿAˢPᵒˢˢⁱᵇˡᵉ). Winter knocks.

if you're afraid of not getting overweight, it's recommended to drink at least 100 ml of alcohol   before eating ; alcohol eliminates  fear,  so  get drunk… Who's On First?

the breeze of words… have spread a bittersweet… scent, gingering like a ghost at the edge of a dreaming moment i found myself flying in your poem's sky... (was amazing); captured in sun's fist of the story, i got trapped, loving you unspoken feelings have emanated in me, the joy's graphic, convincing me to KᵉᵉᵖOⁿKᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍOⁿ in its tender murmur, — (carpe diem)

You made me look different in all the pictures taken not with the camera but with your mind My absence is only felt without where or when why or how, without who or punctuation signs Yet I've to admit that ellipses are accepted and glyph's variant of a bullet point indicates to me as being much stronger now in broken places Your attitude sent me deep in the blues, again… All memories captured erstwhile shine wildish urging me to pick up the pieces [KᵉᵉᵖOⁿKᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍOⁿ]

in the darkness of daylight, left on the hand of a poem, intervened some glimmers, a black & blue's countdown, you to identify my name, hid in the dent of your universe, where a few seek for stills, or are amazed over the moon…