to know him is to love him

by Claudia
to feel why everything has ended,
you have to realize why it started

and the answer came skillfully, —

to know me is to love me (utterly),
to know him is to love him (untold)

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here i am

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here I am... (the ink is still wet…) — the rains of your lust fall relentless, pathing through the noise of your psyche, anesthetized and seduced by the rays of my moon, exposed and mesmerized through the chimes of stars, enough to poison your blood with its crystallized honey for invoking me under the pen name, — I Am A Vampire — now, I possess the perfect excuse to metamorphose you... under my spell
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the domineering esthetic title, — You. like a page of love, — I. hidden behind a chic chapeau, — You. signing some pedantic love letters, — I. lured by temptation, — You. with orgasm on the lips… — the astonishment is frenglishly clear. it utters your emotion while your caring fondles me. it guides you with my dream until our mouths meet. it hears my calling steps in the gaze of your begs. title to stay so... page to come so... the errors are sedated.
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rough noises in my head, stirs restlessness in your soul; i spy on you… you're fine. 𓇼𓇼𓇼 (check it out)², — each day's moment seems to be like a comic illustration personalized through thoughts; thoughts attached to at least a mesmerizing song, exactly as the love's mood accepts its own ego; own ego has evil ideas that wants to be amused without justifying itself to no one but on contrary; contrary to one it'll be another who's fully exposed and terrified by the fire of stress in an amnesic way;
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Dear dizzy fall day from this time of the year, even if it seems to be the season of the witch, I dunno what kind of strategy are you trying. To be accurate, I didn't imagine our dating be so grayish and cold and without your golden and brassy and cuddled and warm sunshades. Fortunately, I was inspired to put on me some perfume with sprightly notes, enough for avoiding any wrong situation, also to reinvent another story, with each part of your sun, inclined on me, to look shinier. Guess that could be one of your deep excuses, in your hurry to see me, and is accepted. Yet, do whatever's necessary to fix up your mood. Even implore a competent one for a prescription… — P.S. — (Do it AΛ’SᡒᡒⁿAΛ’Pᡒ˒˒ⁱᡇˑᡉ). Winter knocks.
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And comes Monday and Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, Friday and Saturday, Sunday and again today, …and again, I love you. Nor the time, nor the distance will not change this chemistry, this endless connection between us. Nothing, absolutely nothing can pass through this prolonged and the profound longing that becomes from time to time, a material, an unreal, a diaphanous, felt through the veins, making us fly... to what will come. It's today again, and again, I love you. Imaginary, put your hand on my chest and rotate it in the direction of the sun to turn my heart back in time, teaching it to beat as if it would beat in your chest, as if together could beat far and closer, softened like a snowflake. It's today again, and again I love you. Check my pulse from my wrist and count my years with yours and without ours, then paint my shoulders with the calendar of your love… Doesn't seem that's looking like the map of the world …‽ We have the North and South,...
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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
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in the spatial pub of a captivating dream, your time's factor booked the table — music; the crystalline gestures of each one of us are orchestrating the main menu; we taste a smile, but the dessert winks at us pushing the moment into a yum atmosphere; in this feel, we're admired by a hug and a kiss which do pirouettes on the poetry's floor; towards the end, participants' thrills, discreetly, bow to us while they're reciting the bill... (...in the spatial pub of a captivating dream)
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Join my atmosphere. My mood denotes Bohemian Whispers and a persistent Poetic Frisson. The dosage comes with Coco. 🌿