[hush-hush], ice cream man… I want you
not just at dinner but early in the morning
with dirty little secrets lunching yourself
from me using your lips and continuing
with other elements and things of yours.
Fireworks in me and sweet hysteria it’s
when you touch me. That’s something
  what I’ve known for a very long time.

©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un p’tit je ne sais quoi

Gotthard │ Alex Who? │ Marian Hill │ Tony Joe White │ Joe Bonamassa 


If you try to love me under a question mark, better do not.
Nor even a point upon the «i» on me do not suppress.
With apostrophe do not express yourself in front of me.
Neither with the straight lines or the round parentheses.
Hyphen, hiatus, or small abbreviations, the comma, or
the “bang” of exclamation, or even if is the dot on your handy
use ’em without error. Rapid, without any corrections, suffix,
prefix, syllables, thousands of interjections, and numerals
and everything in them, it’s a small proof, that our love
it has been written for being played and spoken, at plural.
The vowels, as fruits predicted by flowers of the cherry tree,
and metaphors with discreet onomatopoeia will turn entire our
sentiments in epithets, using the grammar of our wild amour.


Oriah Mountain Dreamer

❝ It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon… I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful to be realistic to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes.” It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments… ❞
The Invitation │ Oriah Mountain Dreamer 

nom de plume…

if you’ll disappear from my bizarro mirth,
i’m gonna find you anyway into myself,
for i’ll create you with what you left to me
using the cryptic word of a nom de plume

si tu disparais de ma gaieté bizarro,
je vais te trouver de toute façon en moi,
car je vais te créer avec ce que tu m’as laissé
utilisant le mot cryptique d’un nom d’plume

a 1000 times

dress me up____ 

with words¡؟ —
with love؟¡ —
with music¡؟ —
with joy؟¡ —
laughter is good — 
with you؟¡ —
details¡؟ —
is our tint؟¡ —
a 1000 times —
much more؟¡ —
a fantasy¡؟ —

 Hamilton Leithauser & Rostam

the beauty of who you are

i know that every time you go 
is to recreate the reason 
that makes you stay with me…
for the beauty of who you are 

Marc Broussard

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