I went back here, – to the scene of adventures,
where I’ve been loved you for so many times,
and where you serious taught me the silence
and about how should be this scattered and
released, then again to be caught in the fist

I went back here, – to the scene of adventures
for reviving myself in your non-earthly beauty
by abandoning myself through your thoughts
lost in the space and abyss of a fragile color
reflected delightfully in a blue shell of the sea

Luther Allison

with your eyes

I am slipping inside you
like sand in an hourglass,
like time in another time
evaluated at your °C degrees
in the symphony of my fever
infused in the dew of yours
with your eyes echoing glow
to my unseen Venus mirrored
in the art of your magnetism
un p’tit je ne sais quoi © ᶜᵒᶜᵒ

The Blue Poets

where I wait

where I wait... deeper than the eye can see

I know your name
It rose every morning
in my thoughts
I’m not saying it aloud
too terrified that poetry
with its fragile air
will fall apart with you
somewhere not where I wait

I know your name
I’m whispering it
to not destabilize
our chemistry
and me to not be
somehow incriminated
that my mind bears you
deeper than the eye can see

©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un p’tit je ne sais quoi

Dave Gahan │ Dave Keller

how deep this river runs

I will never look for you again, — and take it

as an announcement of a love’s declaration,
like a sublime orgasm totally lacked which
teased our blood with the heat of the drug
given by a song found as it was before now,
in poetry suspended in time… —  are enough
memories and plenty of time to remember…
depends about… — how deep this river runs
un p’tit je ne sais quoi © ᶜᵒᶜᵒ
Joe Bonamassa

love’s a stranger

l'amour est un étranger, — un p'tit je ne sais quoi © ᶜᵒᶜᵒ ;₎₎

in the mysterious feminine romanticism

stimulated by that escapade mechanism
with that explanatory instrument brought
charmingly by a deep eloquent allusion, —
the visual writing system deciphers gently
an image by assembling it to several frames
for creating that distinct connection, firmly
felt amid the feelings of those sensations
so well personified by intense emotions,
which, if it could be put in a tangible practice
would be useless, spoiling any signification

for love’s a stranger of our chic psychology




each day’s beautiful when it passes
from your eyes inside my eyes,
walking through one glance
of the virtual world of yours and mine
with everything that’s having here,
in this random circumstances
of your being in my being,
for discovering in any individual day
the distance that’s within us
measured by the testimony of some
true with strong and definitive feelings
brought by a poem or a song
intensely in my soul to yours‧‧‧…

Julien Dore │ Dardan

black magic

the shortest way,

from me to you,
is the longest road,
from you to me, —
could be the reason
for which happiness
it gets conjugated
at the past tense;
you may try any witchery
white magic, black magic
using certain tools
invoking spells, formulas
methods, and techniques
calling supernatural forces,
will not channel anything;
seems ridiculousness,
but loneliness takes care
to reminds you, —
the happiness
it gets conjugated
at the past tense

Jaymes Young

blossom roses

Willem Haenraets - Like a Song

let it be like a sweet suggestion 

for each day to be combined 
with the seductive and the mystery 
creating by a fascinating image 
inspired by the holographic icon 
of a trance-foamed melody 
in poetic notes for which 
one loves to surround you 
in the echo of the blossom roses

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