Poetic Allusions · Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

My time has its residence in the universe of love. The access is assembled with the delight's materials. The domicile is hospitable, built in the joy's mannerism. The scent has something of the first stage of winter. On the list of its invitees, age is ageless. Just energy. Dialect of the present tense, it is its only way of talking. Wishes are fulfilled as are felt their vibes, (confident or not). My time, inexhaustible, is now. My facts will talk about it, later. If I'll be wrapped in your arms for Christmas, time knows. Noel Avec Toi is already prepared. My sharing traveled in your time.

with my hand, cuddling your hand, with my body stuck to your body, with my eyes gazing in your eyes, as if the hands only make sense on the skin of the other one, as if the lips have unique taste kissing their twin lips, as if the eyes can only find a sense, in the eyes of the other as if interlude à la désirade isn't you… isn't me… but just an aroma

The imprint of our love, it's everywhere. From the missing people with the APB, until the scene of flagrante delicto and facts. The traces are on all flanks, far and wide, thoroughly. Nonentity and nothing can immaculate 'em. We are doomed to a punishment without the verdict, to be haunted forever by this absolute emotion which survived beyond our first meeting. This feeling, the freedom for the soul and thoughts, never left us alone. With suspicion and courage, we always returned to this place of this poetic sample, without misstepping in the whirlwind of passion, but strictly for this love... the taste for music. Every time we took for proof our looks, our hugs, our breathing and our heartbeats, basing us on the palpitations of our minds, chic, whispering to each other, — (the carousel of mine, it's you)

love didn't bring to me the breakfast in bed but left me to sleep a little more having the care to program some whispers sent with the help of the wind warmed by a few rays of the sun hidden among the tiny clouds which loves to gaze at me walking gallantly through those dreams accompanied by a clink, playful and gently, like a sweet tender kiss, only to provoke me to stretch and to search your hypnotics lure, — quand tu m'appelles‧‧‧

as‧‧‧ if you could read my thoughts, you should already know I'm lost, — lost between, — and in-between‧‧‧ and as I know you, you'll show up muttering to me, — you're not lost‧‧‧ you're with me traveling wherever‧‧‧ your fantasy with mine together is, — steady... in a sinful harmony as‧‧‧ if