l’été indien


I think I need to invent a new alphabet for writing to you
as if you’re drawn for it. And I think the stars must be
the orator that reads to you, when you gonna want to be
absorbed in that fancy-schmancy literature, well defined in
a lullaby sound, just for being dragged in those sweet dreams
grouped in familiar aromas with those kinds of emotions… —
of the morning, — with the top note, naughty…
of the daytime, — with the heart note, a privy gently solace…
of the evening, — with the base note, the irresistible love…
and in-between, — all notes combined and included in each
and any day, for being similarly as a cosmopolitan day from
an Indian summer hugged smoothly by winter’s tenderness
©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un p’tit je ne sais quoi

Charles Pasi │ Joe Dassin

satisfaction guaranteed


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I can love you only as I want.
Could be politely or unrespectfully.
With tiny kisses or brutal kisses.
Could be locally or universally.
True-blue or without scruples.
Into a safe perimeter or in a vision.
Through lyrics or sound of a song.
Premeditated or unpredictable.
Like a gentle cat or like a lion.
But I will not love you as you request.
It isn’t any satisfaction guaranteed
if your love has a date of expiration.
©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un p’tit je ne sais quoi

Sebernu │ [The Firm] Paul Rodgers

it’s a wonderful time for love


He turned to her, running his hand up her hips
then across her belly and down among her legs
when suddenly he turned around to watch tv…
Astounded, she asked him, “why you stopped”?
“because I found the remote”, he replied.
“but it’s a wonderful time for love“, she bumbled
« ain’t got nothing but a dream on me,
you’ve got something that I really, really,
really, really need… — AˢSᵒᵒⁿAˢPᵒˢˢⁱᵇˡᵉ »
Norah Jones │ Son Little