In the earthly bit of the day, I dress up in the sky's scent. The sun's rays, like beads, adorn my neck. The accessories of my ears are grounds internet's playlist. On my lips, velvety and soft, reflect the smile's tint. Listening to my thoughts, the wind creates my hairstyle. The sea is my mirror while my eyes hum time's beauty. Out of nowhere, playfully, a thought climbs in my mind. I salute the life's mood and continue our chit-chat. Maybe an eye of my soul cries, but surely, the other smiles. If I feel confused I'll be fixed. Nothing happens randomly. Life is stuffed with anything... I breathe it. It breathes me.

i am the one who has the diploma in not to be an option to nobody ✳ i graduated discipline of being authentic chic and, — a bizarre laconic ✳ on the brevet is written, — i'm not an easy friend on the contrary ✳ i'm qualified to qualify you to be, and lost and found, using chicaneries and the fiasco's rhymes ✳ some grin, some laugh to hide their failure, — and that's tacitly pitiable but also very typical ✳ i listened to, — accidental... ...at banal coffee time, the whispers of the life

at the last moment, both famished with carnal desire, satiated with longing, we exposed our feelings i let him bite my tongue i let him melt in my burnings i let him quenched in my eagers all night long... all night long is still at this hour [since then...] since then we are like in a pearly nautilus shell... he let me do all that i let him did bleu électrique attiré par le bleu électrique, physique j'entame ma descente, vers le fond, vers l'abysse je descends, toujours, plus bas, vers les étoiles je ralentis le rythme de mon cœur, tête baissée vers le néant   emmène moi, dans la nuit noire, ma place est là un peu plus bas, juste pour voir, jusqu'où la lumière me suivra   attiré par le bleu électrique, mystique  je glisse vers l'abysse, je m'éclipse dans la nuit, bleu marine je descends, toujours, plus bas, vers les étoiles je ralentis le rythme de mon cœur, tête baissée vers le néant   emmène moi, dans la nuit noire, ma place est là un peu plus bas, juste pour voi

I'm sipping from the moon, from the sin and from diaphanous hours, plunged in me in you in us to carry a bit of happiness. I'm sniffing from the nights, from whimsy stars enough to bring 'em in your soul from my soul filled with stories ripped from sunrise. Consider me guilty. Blame me for I'm writing these epistles. But my longing for you is analgesic. It's pure amphetamine... Is something translucent that turns darkness, teaching me to crawl in, among, and towards a light that lets you dream inside me... Is my climax syllabled by you, the chosen, — the one trained in the couleur menthe à l'eau, the one which my mind and soul listen to...

because beyond my eyes there is the sky with the stars in your eyes; because at confession, my soul hasn't kept the mystery of the poetry that you are; because you know to read among the rows, among the seasons, among all the points and all the unspoken commas; because towards me, you were written like a novel of amorous fiction; because you met me all the way like that love at the corner of the street, thinking that I am to everyone when I was just your poetry and not of someone else; because I lived you as two lives in another life sharing all kinds of emotions that some never heard; because my confessions became yours having the spell above of the sinner and the culpability offered clearly, through the eyes and eyelashes of the fragile balance of chemistry and of everything that could be kissed; because I've been searching for you so much and by a sublime chance, I've found myself; because your prayer to your God was with me, and all my thoughts returned