You don’t possess so many howlings of the wolves
for how much silence of the moon, it is in me, when
with tiptoes of your thoughts, you sneaked in mine.
You don’t possess so many forests which you’d been
wishing grown em in your soul to make me somehow
lose myself, to feel what means blood pulse of yours.
You don’t possess so-so or too much time to be enough
to you, when your whispers burn my lips with verses without
rimes because again, today, they’re longing for your kiss.
You don’t possess nor even curses to snatch me out of any
fantasy, where seems I’m laying there about ever forever,
waiting frantically for you to love me as you promised.
You don’t possess even tomorrow for how I’m loving you
right now, — into a Monday or a Tuesday, a Wednesday,
Thursday or a Friday and Saturday to not forget about of
Sunday, when you’re to me so cold or too-too passional.
©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un p’tit je ne sais quoi