nothing bad can happen at this hour; quietness doesn't let us make mistakes; we sail in perfect equilibrium, anonymously without knowing if we suffer, if we're happy; your eyes closed feel my breath in yours; you've been caught in my sweetest dreams;

Too much, — there... — too little, you... A day you are to me, — yes, another day you are to me, — no All seems for no reason to be... —  to need to... — Too simple, — for another, too complicated, — for one... Kisses expose the spaces gathered daily between us Too much, — today, too little, tomorrow [far from me] Almost and much too soon you suffer for longing me... A touch too much seems nothing or too-too... from time to time...

« Votre âme est un paysage choisi que vont charmants masques et bergamasques jouant du luth et dansant et quasi tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques. Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur, l’amour vainqueur et la vie opportune, ils n’ont pas l’air de croire à leur bonheur et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune, au calme, clair de lune, triste et beau, qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres et sangloter d’extase les jets d’eau, les grands jets d’eau sveltes parmi les marbres. »  

Isn't a saturnine morning but is perceived so, identical like some complaints of yours... — which not once, you made me listen to them, even if you fooled yourself, very convinced I'm gonna let the things come easy for you. Music's wave is to deliver you another reply in paralleled dialect, like most of your actions, certain taboos of your love, here but not here, there but not there, in an axiom philosophy of the one who loves you the most... today.

And I've been choosing you to be one of my dreams, but you metamorphosed in each of them, becoming a watercolor painting me to be to you your rain, then, in other to look like Asteraceae flowers and my soles to be tattooed with the graphic symbols of your name for you chose to be the ink and quill of my thoughts decorating my soul with the smiles of love. — Yours. Troubadour, the wind, meticulously, sculpted to me the timbre of my voice, as wherever you'll be or go to feel inside yourself my idiotic longing and love cocooned in the sun and moon, in the air you breathe composed with the typical music deepen in portraits of everyday stories, the-invisible-one-starry-eyed

do not pray for any entity to use his power, you to be protected by your enemies, or to make them stay away from you, for if you do this, you'll observe how easy he will make disappear even some of your everyday friends, (never), but just cheap imitations of the way that you move; so better invite 'em at your chic kabaret, to wish 'em a merry Christmas, right from early in summer, applying your best smile

When I'm running  through the dreams of yours,  they're cuddling me...  and dressing me up in the paintings of your thoughts. When I'm running  through the dreams of yours, I rest myself... I even allow myself to take some drops of them using the sound of your illustrations. When I'm running  through the dreams of yours, are those other moments which makes me turn to you again to gimme paths to other corridors so good for re-energizing myself

Seems that the balance of the universe is upset... The force of light is irritated while the power of darkness grows up a bit into an unexpected ascension. The weather is caught into  an unbearable manic depression, but not for long. Already, the guardian of the universe appeared, applying a magic formula to break the spell. It's called kindness. It's called having care for one another. It's called humanity. May This Be Love, Child...

For some of those who secretly doesn't like you, assure them others trained you to transform rapidly the ugly moment you got by hitting beauty of life only Also, keeping silent and smiling isn't a secret or such a fuss to send happy summer to the abject haters when you say those magic words to make 'em disappear forever

when you don't want to talk to anyone, I am the silence hidden in a magic sound you're not looking for it, but somehow you listen to it with angel eyes, confident cos I will always find a way to get to you

how much you like to offer yourself such a pleasure just to flow around through my feelings, and to walk with melancholy through me, and to dip your hopes into memories with the taste of the forbidden fruits just for making me feel the love of yours as if you are the exquisite heroin that steams amorously my veins, and how carefully you are, only to arouse inside me all your unimaginable desires and lusts, which seems to be too strong to be kept at a limit... how charming you are when you long for me to beg you to swim up with elegance through my mind, just to create daily new moments in the color of tenderness only for me

while your lips are comforting me, your hands are whispering to me music to my ears

— my lovely trap, what's the first number which comes to your mind? — you look well and hellishly explosively, exploring me in my deep blue wave the dog gives you the paw; you pat his head and you wipe his jaw; he's the only one who knew (about) my blue wave

A glass of love, please... To not be cloned. The bite must be unique. Must be full of aroma, having character... and doubtless, the scent of the sea... The kiss must have the taste of wild fruits enriched in floral's notes. A glass of love, please... filled with velvety words. To not be cloned. Must be mysterious... Must be similar with those whispers which, at a tender moment, we've had some drinks, deeply expensive in our pink creativity.

Which's the one that talked much more about us, — the sound of the day or the sound of the night? What's night's name which made us look gorgeous? But of the day which made us look even better? Do you still hear whispers of the sun and the moon? Do you remember which one pushed us inside the dreams and which one took us out? What about the gossip between the sky and the sea and not to forget those tween butterflies and flowers? Music still has the power to create insanely vertigo for me, despite how l feel… but for you what else or it does still, tell me...

About 12 degrees ago, I was much more sociable and sympathetically. Now, I'm not and I'll not be anymore. I chose silence. An unstoppable feeling. I'll do not accept the unacceptable. My emotions are non-transmissible even if I know that fascinates you with all your demons to seek for mine. I have taught, about you. You as well have taught, about me. — I'm a gift. You learned to glorify, my holy self.

— Hey, what are you doing here? — I'm waiting for you. — How did you know I'm gonna come now? — I didn't know. I sat down and said to myself, I'll count up to ten if it doesn't come, I'm leaving, but what to see, suddenly you're here... — And up to what number did you get? — At 7162018100. And I could've continued even if it seems you're barely on my mind.

— I love you! — Do you tell this… to everyone? — Yep... to everyone... — To all of them? — ₘhᵐᵐ‧‧‧ To all, I tell 'em that I love You weightless timeless out of facts of life it was you from the beginning of beginnings so please be good... — you are the only one

In the hatred of a minute he wished to forget everything about her A speeding satellite confirmed his emotion Not even 1st fantasy hasn't remained as if they'd weren't Delete-Delete key was used Spirits ramble verbosely through queered hours A reason to wait aspiring to a better future

The dream with you never got closed. Somehow, very discreetly, you sneaked from mainline into another dream, brought heedlessly from a different life, full of pleasures and chaos, and suggestive tastes, found in the myth's attributes of Dionysus, whose advice is to savor the holy wine, smoothly and as much as brings joy and health, and enough seductiveness to enjoy the scent of love. Yet, what you dream, what you assume, thinking you'll get, alternatively of what happens in reality, beyond words, slip like sesame syrup, between hazard's edge and the metaphors' limit, tailored in free love code, to imagine if…

any cell of mine has in composition the love's formula which never cheated you, it's a soundtrack painted for your dreams, a state of mind injected deeply in me by you, you, my demon in the angel's skin

it's not too late... it's not too early... but right on time as among the stars, my soul, like a kite worn by wind, to get caught in your soul's spell, which doesn't tell it like it is, but acts nasty as a devil, devil that you forgot to mention, — being evil has a price

here I am, all wet… rains of your lust fall in despite, pathing the motions of your psyche anesthetized and seduced by rays of my moon, so fascinated and mesmerized by the chimes of stars and yet so poisoning in your syrupy blood, that's able to invoke me to listen to your callings, as if I am a vampire metamorphosed under your spell

the secret scream of pine's forest cavalry is guarded by wildflowers which adorn the jungle of my mind full of dreams, — dreams that embellish my wildest river your fantasy inserted a murmured flavor, using own pine needle to incite the poesy to write itself smoothly, in diluted mirage your love for me, in an empyrean tableau

Knock, Knock Who's There? Follow. Follow Who? Follow Me Down

long-lost but not forgotten, — exaggerating term; stubbornly, you chose to dock in the inner tumult of my adventures as if i were you eagerly, my dreams ran you up and will run you still for my essence never knew and still doesn't know to extinguish my longing for you, beast