Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

At any end of the year, the same game is unfolded. The present year asks if I feel guilty about anything, or if it has to feel guilty about something. Then, it hinted me to keep only the good memories, the rest, it said, — please, put it in on me. Inevitably, it kept on, — I know you learned new things, or at least, some suspicions of yours were confirmed. For a moment, I was surprised when it changed a few words with the new year, which, even if it appeared disguised as a tiny white rabbit, I recognized it by its manner of gazing at me. It was receiving some advice… — the old year said to the new one, — (love her madly). Let her happiness act for you as (your best enemy).

you said something, I said something; questions to responses are whispered; moments are not hidden, but searched; certainly was something it shouldn't be; the consequences are in cupid's realm; a timid game to know me to know you; therefore, — in this spectacular parade of paradox, who's the wolf, who's the black sheep?

Say to the stars how shiny they are. Say to the wind how gentle it is. Say to the dreams in a velvety air to KᵉᵉᵖOⁿKᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍOⁿ so to don't stop no matter what sins will get to you... Hang on! I'll keep on loving you kindly, purely, cheery, immaculate, rousing up the attractiveness to the graceful cote of the miracle of what you are and who you are, indifferently how rarely or often my name will be on your lips...

I'm gonna be home for the holidays. The sweet figurines of chocolate with colorful taste, the candies, and cakes moistened gallantly will aromatize the house with traditional specialties created in my agnostic language to bring the balance in contrast with sacred liqueurs of gods which have the aim to cherish this treasured day as each moment to be manifested in the fluid harmony of music with funny steps gently pirouetted in front of smiles and tender gestures adapted in the special K manner of the event.

Take out from my hair and from wherever the guilty sentiments of yours towards me. You know that candlelight can become sun enough to enlighten the darkest hours. Bring to me the shine of your love and the feelings with all images out of the past. Fairy tales and laughter stirred by blame, incertitude, sleepless nights, passions and an imaginary kiss will heal any obsession. Take out from my hair and from wherever the guilty sentiments of yours towards me. Don’t you remember when I told you that the mystery of the night can be whenever, in the middle of the day or whichever hour? So let’s splash out our love, let's devour it. Let’s be lovers tonight. What do you say?

like a dreamcatcher at the right hours, i've inserted my math in your equation by giving you infinite choices to solve my set of tactics at various frequency some have been brought from the past in minor tones of 69 for 2 of us to sum the actual moment adjacent to a grade with pigment sexual… vibe isotropic… the result obtained was multiplied and divided into the able radical expression of the irrational square root, – ⁽ʸᵒᵘ & ᵐᵉ⁾ at perfectly square function, – ⁽ᵐᵉ & ʸᵒᵘ⁾

with few royal whispers, I've been lured in the majestic castle of your brain, just to have a place where to lose my mind while the venom of your lips gorges me, as later, as a side effect, when inevitably I'll wake up, to have no tendency to ask about what happened, but just to rewind the fancy game of your sinner soul, in me, which with flair... the sun-kissed it... a lot

again the time hasn't any more patience and consigns my thoughts to look for you; again a lot of letters jumped out of images and solitary phrases with immaculate words majestic sculpted to create touches, thrills and playful feelings able to remember me about the aim of our rendezvous incarnated in a place hidden between lines of a song, of a shadow or a gentle light from a photo or colors, tints, and shapes of a painting with tout de suite of characters exposed in the spotlight of some subtle alliances gifted with a voice only to meet you again

Sometimes, when I feel invisible or isolated by those people who I don't even know 'em, I tuck myself into good feelings, then I make from my present a gorgeous party, expressed in percentages of vibrations capable to shake any answer without question and vice-versa. It might sound pretty bookish, but justifies the reason for which I feel powerful & loved, admired, smart, and intuitive, but also, envied by persons who love using their complacency accusing that false tiredness. Hereby, I chose to get transfigured in beauty fiction or poetry, in a song or insistent onomatopoeia, as others to can feel the incantations of a wildish soul. ✴ trrrrr acia, trrrrr ha ha trrrrr voom bam, trrrrr ha ha shalalala... ya ✴

it's Christmas time, pretty baby ;)) happy holidays wherever you are 🎄 (santa claus is back in town)

Imagination is just like facts. It's just as much as reality. It's like an intense, unknowing love. It's as deep, or perhaps even more focused than a shared but not materialized love. A love, which regardless of its form, doesn't waste any twinkle in gestures, or words that can't always be expressed but constantly appears on this day, D13. That's the truest truth… And yes, it's a pleonasm, à la ᵏᴼᵏᴼ more or less………….bad as hell tchin-tchin 🥂

the galaxy rotates in the rhythm of the music for an authentic mood of the dreamer you are, lost and delighted, breathing my love and will, to cut up the shield where I am with your lust; emotions felt, set the joy no matter whenever in a tender blue with a merry Christmas, baby, for love of December is adorned by your thrill wrapped in a little bit of everything traditional 🎄

you are to me, — the winter fête's attire crocheted with the cashmere of the verses' karma of my gray-blue eyes of the muse i am to you to diffuse the satiny sky's scent entwined with holly and ivy in neon moon's sheen at the shadow of a kiss of whichever season… [if anybody asks you]

because your smile seems a glory... box of some dreams have been telegraphed at an odd address from a sarcastic area this area, — staged in splendid art style of the Picasso, in my pocket is wandering with my whispers in your fantasy's colors

I'm breathing deeply to set aside the weight of a stubborn waiting from a demented and static life. Machined in unbearable sweetness, your sagacity erases my delusions, overflowing bit by bit, anew lust on me. Wave upon wave thru wheel of time, you are demanded in my being, using your mirthfully glance full of candor. That's why, I lean my dreams, soothed in the stars' constellation, tenderly to cherish you with their physiognomy.

morning greetings, – coffee, hugs, and ⟮a finer thing⟯; to do is to do nothing but to have confidence and understanding; any chosen path is a good one when can't be found a proper way; so let it be a midday of kisses but take no risk; ⟮love is hard enough without the winter⟯; winter is you... and me... a snowflake one, ⟮inquisitive and playful⟯, gasping ardently, like a whisper to be ⟮summer in your arms⟯

i blindfolded the trees with a green bandana and I told them to find me and the trees found me instantly with a guffaw of leaves i blindfolded the birds with a kerchief of clouds and i told them to find me... and the birds found me with a song... i blindfolded the sadness with a smile... and the sadness found me the next day into a love... i blindfolded the sun with my nights and i told him to find me... and the sun said, — «you're there everywhere, all this time, don't hide anymore.» «don't you hide anymore», said all the things and sentiments which i tried to blindfold 'em.» translation‧‧‧ ©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un p'tit je ne sais quoi ‧ chic… à ma façon

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...