❝ 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 ❞ I have winter here with the beautiful snow; it covered delicately with those sixfold symmetries, the streets, the trees, everything... I've stolen a peek at a snowflake from my window and one of them wink at me and seemed whispering something that was a bit unclearly but in a sweetness tenderly and melodic manner, — ❝ hey, lovely blonde ❞ followed by whispers that came somehow indiscernible for being tra

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 delay blinking to not break my ray? But if I'd be spread from the sky on your lips, with drops of rain, would I quench your thirst, with this water of mine? And yet, because the «if», is just a condition of the clause and the «would», just the main clause, then the answer is simple, you will be what you want others to be for you, — and me, — I'll remain a silent flame in a screamed silhouette... abandoned

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 as a result, each day's moment seems to be like a comic illustration personalized with thoughts attached to at least a mesmerizing song, exactly as love's mood accepts its own ego and the demons, without justifying itself but on the contrary, it's letting itself amusingly wrapped and exposed, just until the one who lit that fire of the stress will wish to check it out