Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

your heart, beyond any doubt, it's illiterate, — otherwise, what excuses I should find for it, (forever from now), — when it conjugates at imperfect, love's verb, as if it adores to watch me blazing in the beam of a sunset, when my body is pampered and blanketed with the shadows of your kisses, — entirely out of control, in searching for more, devoted to a perpetual exploring, (where's my girl ؟?).