snowflakes

by 📍
if you insist the dictum of love is religion,
I'll contradict you, for indisputable isn't
in the cosmic period of my present time
where even contours of snowflakes see
what I mean it... nonchalantly proving
and amusing in games of the spirits, felt
and used in the metaphors of each day,
so well devised thru steady descriptions,
portrayed by this agnostic soul of mine,
fine demonized in beauty by your mind,
characterized in a deeper love aphorism,
met not just in lucid dreams but in truths


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anytime of the year

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she wears the attire of his kisses, of his touches, of his comforts she's not naked, but covered entirely with the expensive suit of love (his love) (not of him) (not the other) are you embarrassed to get naked? she's wearing proudly this attire for she's been loved and she is still... (because...) and (any-time of the year) gratuitous, love leads 'em anywhere
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lovely

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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...).
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you can't run

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good for me

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face à face

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I can't be face to face with you, — and yet, I plunged with aplomb into the starry desires of the fantasy, letting myself be pigmented by rays of the sun and mystical symptoms of the moon, using the pen of your soul, to take daily your philosophy's shape, chic sketched out, according to your art of loving, emitted sensually through a daring posture of your scent, tamed with sweetened kisses, through all my senses... I can't be face to face with you, — and yet, inventive, I blindfolded your moon with my sunshine. I whispered to it, you'll find me. Subtle you did it. You found Me.
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tighten up

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satisfaction guaranteed

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I can love you only as I want. Could be politely or disrespectful. With tiny kisses or brutal kisses. Could be locally or universally. True-blue or without scruples. Into a safe perimeter or in a vision. Through lyrics or sound of a song. Premeditated or unpredictable. Like a gentle cat or like a lion. But I will not love you as you request. It isn't any satisfaction guaranteed if your love has a date of expiration.
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tell me something beautiful, she said, — (∂ + m) ψ

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tell me something beautiful, she said, and he responded… — (∂ + m) ψ ✴ «In science, you want to say something nobody knew before in words that everyone can understand. In poetry, you're bound to say something everybody knows already in words that nobody can understand» ✴ (∂ + m) ψ   « If two systems interact with each other for a certain period of time and  then get separated, this can no longer be described as two separate systems. Somehow they become a single system. In other words, what happens to one of them continues to have impacts on the other. They're influenced by each other instantly, no matter how far apart they are... distant miles or light-years.»
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give me a reason

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his daily waking routines are to make me feel differently... i'm loved in such a manner that some can't even imagine ⋯ syntax and morphology of love is structured in the language of his feelings amazingly written in the chromatic of his desires ⋯ desires translated into equations, defined by exponents at powers of destiny, mine and his, invoked, to give him to give me a reason ⋯ a reason roused and formulated in an esthetic conversation, using the pulse of pumas, black pumas; (he loves me in many ways)…
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Can You Keep a Secret

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(call 911), explain to it, explain to them, — I am in trouble, I fell in love with you, I need to be infused intravenously with your schmaltzy kind and your polychrome (call 911), explain to it, explain to them, — my soul's full of clouds and heavy rains it sings a blues, (as incantations) as if it is the honeyed slave of your soulfulness (call 911), explain to it, explain to them, — your sun transfixed my eyes and muses, my senses are in agony of love and pathologically, I look as if I am a temporarily insane kind in a cliché (call 911), explain to it, explain to them, — my mind has been corrupted, got bleached, it keeps me captured in something similar to quarantine… I desperately need you to get me cured if you cannot or can you keep a secret, pardon me, but the dear politeness it doesn't give a damn what others think, — (call 911), explain about it, explain to them
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