blow up


I painted you in the pastel of my heart,
when thousands of colors were not enough
to caress warmly so many vaguely forms
in the steps of time, when all other painters
were breathing just black and white.
I reread you in the noblest book,
that was rigged into a shelf,
without the dust of the soul.
I’ve muttered the warmest song
out of many numbers of sounds
thrown tenaciously toward of many ears
but some haven’t afforded to listen to it.
I chose you to be my director
who transforms the drama
in a romantic story with a happy ending,
knowing that the end actually embraces
a new beginning formulated to blow up
in another one, verbalized in our mind
©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un-p’tit-je-ne-sais-quoi

Kid Francescoli