Adieu, Monsieur

digital-art-gif created by (me), © coco

About 60 km off Marseille, at MouriΓ¨s, in Bouches-du-RhΓ΄ne, in a paradise realm, at the age of 94, the great artist, Charles Aznavour passed away leaving behind an extraordinary treasure of songs dipped in love stories. Piously, the world bows in front of him for the last time. Adieu, Monsieur.


πŸ“–

mille fois

i am the sky of the skies above all the skies, bearing the sun of the sun of all the suns, and the moon of the moon of all the moons i am the world of the worlds of all the worlds, bearing the star of the stars of all the stars, and the dream of the dream of all the dreams i am the wish of the wish of all the wishes, bearing the night of the night of all the nights, and the day of the days of all the days i am the love of the love of all the loves, bearing the color of the colors of all the colors, and the joy of the joys of all the joys i am the very best of the best of all the best, for i am the i of myself of all the i of the selves of i, crΓ¨me de la crΓ¨me of all the crΓ¨me de la crΓ¨me (je suis mille fois un trait distinctif  traduite), while a thousand times is not enough for what i am for any sky, any world, any wish, any love, inculcated
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shangri-la

It's a shangri-la inside me… Songs played on the radio are my coffee companions . The sun's percussion tools are flavoring the ambiance , while the sky recites my lines. The sea , moved by my words, purifies today's air as deeply as it has done lately, and ever. Ecstasy found me meditating , with my gaze's navel tilted to passion's navel of a loved one. All smell of milky chocolate , salty caramel , and pistachio , unbosom who thinks of me...
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from head to toe

Tα΅’DʳᡉᡃᡐAα΅‡α΅’α΅˜α΅—Yα΅’α΅˜‧‧‧ I put on me something explosively  opting to get attired with you… from head to toe…
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there it is

there it is your longing, — it's written deeply on my skin with lust's igniting ink kept in your mouth's container; the nibs, — your lips have harvested radiant thrills planted fluently by my sighs in any intense apogee; our love seduced the music to listen to us, — you and I are an inciting icon mirrored in all universe;
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shelter

slowly, — his gaze canvassed down to the mystery of her fluidly feeling there are no shortcuts, — his psychic is unlocked instantly dimension of ecstasy enraptures him to the deepest desire the astral embodiment of her yoni springs on him, sweet like a flower her giving is in his rustle's intimacy, in the deep insatiability of his breath is a harmony of the event's testimony in a voyage over bridges of thoughts each gesture and touch is Rhine falls in the torch climax of the passion the words' personality moves their lips beyond their heartbeat's silhouette she's ready, – wants him; he knows it is …her poem's air in his butterflies' shelter
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recognize

on the sky bridge sings a dream sketched by time's frisson, — its shape betrays… love ⋯ where are those who're no longer with us, the tears ask, rejecting owl's myth ⋯ night's gaze stalks the town with its progressive process conserved in light-years ⋯ lucid, i'm caressed by a song you shared it once chic to breathe my breath ⋯ petals' silhouettes reach your lungs' nectar to trace my hypnotic scent ⋯ dreams' eyes recognize we're the carnal plenitude in so many tunes ⋯ on my forehead's meadow my dreams speak in odd language, — your lips translate them
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check it out

…rough noises in my dreams, stirs restlessness in your soul; i check on you… you're fine 𓇼𓇼𓇼 (check it out), 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 one too, who 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 a way amnesic;
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@ home │ life + you

his galaxy abounds with inspiration and pours love... and melancholy, — right there up above, spinning on the ray of a star, I feel I am… — seduced I'm drawn by him in a poem I'm the flower of his dreams well-mannered by the spirit of his ink
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face Γ  face

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 the 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, crayoning my inside world. An echo in chaos.
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love it

(again... smoothly, he flirted with her) — why would I want to be  a paintbrush  today... milady... (‽ 𓇼 [and again...], (she butterflied... to him) — perhaps your feelings want to interpolate with mine for inserting your technique and poetic colors to portray me as you love it... (‽) 𓇼 [at his turn...], (he butterflied to her, too) — [pink peony are your lips], [purple sky and beige of the universe  is your wavy hair], [the taste of blue sky is  the reality seen in your eyes], [while your body fragrance goes...] well, —  it will depend on the view of the watcher...
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