Un P'tit Je Ne Sais Quoi

morning has woken up to play with my dreams, — it bribed 'em with coffee; its velvety aroma, thrilled my senses, but not my hopes, which cocoon in their rules; they sniffed out for music; a husky, slow kind, like the fall in its silent season's phase;

... ... the scream of the night's longing found me whistling; the breath of the moon pulsates as if it'll fall in love tomorrow; time turned out to be a broderie on which my realm is woven; its gaze seems as if it speculates my mood on the lips of the moment; a thought sings at my dream's ear just enough to lure you into it; the sky's wide-open eyes shine to stir your desire right as... ...as the scream of the night's longing found me whistling; ...whistling while the lids of my chic thoughts close and release the snazzy of your sun; ...your sun here, on the edge of sleeping where we sneak past the velvet veil of a new day; ...a new day where tomorrow is not a clock but a landscape we haven't painted yet; ☆ tenderly, my breath slows to match the tide while the world dissolves into moondance; ☆ psst... wake me up... (only then...) when the morning learnt to bloom like this dream...

methodically domesticated, my smile hides inside yours as a brief phase of passion, fed by somebody new that's posting on music platforms, letting us slip into each other, ingesting us bit by bit, while we're trying not to crush love or correct it with our longing • methodically domesticated, yet, timidly, aching for a kiss, it's a verse in the waiting area of dreams that make us look like a toy, gently manipulated by thoughts without antidote for some sentiments, camped in our lustful gazes, victimized like emigrants toward nowhere • methodically domesticated, we're like an exhibited tableau where some look at it with envy, and others with admiration, but we don't care at all for we know we're safe in a poetic frisson of my smile hidden inside yours as a brief phase of passion, fed by that something new