come… drug me, babe

I’m thinking of you. It’s true, with short interruptions.
Any page of my personal diary is filled with your image.
I’ve stocked you everywhere, but nowhere so well
as in my mind and soul. I painted you with fingertips
on my body. I sang and called you out. And when
I wandered myself, I knew where to find you. You’re
in my weirdest/wildest dreams where you waited
for me so many times and where you always are
like a straitjacket with your arms over my body… —
like the only drug that I can digest and that I hardly wait
to be brought to me, — You… — come, drug me, babe.

Lucifer Was

Loudon Wainwright III │ laughter is good

❝ Let’s talk about sex…
She was trying to get him to talk to her
While they were doing the deed…
He said “Baby I’m the strong and the silent type”
She said “That’s not what I need”
“Please do not speak softly, ” she said
“When carrying your stick”
He said “Actions can speak louder”
She said “It doesn’t do the trick”
She was all over him in the A.M.
He said “Baby you don’t understand
Just about once a night I’m alright,
But I’m not much of a morning man.
I’m not quite awake yet, he said,
I could use a cup”
She said “How about a loving spoonful darling?
That might get you up”
The other night she was biting him,
While they were doing it in the dark
He said, “What are you some kind of vampire baby?”
She said “I just love to leave my mark”
And then he said, “Maybe it’s a tendency”
And then she said, “I hope it’s just a phase”
You can’t be too careful people
With these diseases these days.
She was trying to get him to spank her
She said “It feels so fine”
He said “I’m not that kind of man baby
That’s where I draw the line”
Then she said “You can draw the line… there
You can draw a circle, draw a square.
I don’t mind a parallelogram, darling
Just put your pencil there!
I don’t mind a rhomboid, darling,
Just put your pencil there!” ❞

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


a cup with the sweetness of winter’s tea
preserves still the irresistible fragrance
of our absolute kiss phrased in pigments
and silhouettes of our dream, connected
with our mind through an unspoken story
of our insatiable love tinted, — forbidden
Aynsley Lister


❝ this call, this call for lust
echoes inside echoes inside
this ghost of sin, of skin
echoes inside echoes inside
hours without end
losing myself
waiting, waiting for your dance
echoes inside me
echoes inside me
i could believe the signs you`ve left
a leap of true faith
just trying to share
the song inside my head 
the song inside my head
oblivion makes a move
and i forgot to forget
what could be the end, to share
i could believe the signs you`ve left
a leap of true faith
just trying to share
the song inside my head 
the song inside my head
this ghost…. ❞


little dreamer

a sublime debut of a madly morning 
attracts you on the dancefloor of mind 

its rhythm vibrates magnificent 
arousing a sense that once you ignored 

and you don’t feel embarrassed at all 
contrary, your little dreamer soul hums 

farewell is the burden of life’s origin 
to discharge joys’ cycle at [new degrees] 
✓✍🏻 ;₎₎ 
un p’tit je ne sais quoi © ᵏᴼᵏᴼ 

Peter Green ♪


morning rouse, —

dream of last night, —

Les Fleurs at the coffee, —

Les Litanies, —
followed with Lord’s Prayer

darkness, —
identical as it’s lit side;

the beauty of ugly,
the ugly of beauty, —
Baudelaire explained;

night and day, —

increasing, decreasing, —

the love, —
is there or is not at all…

defines a weakness, —
artistic creation;

a pray, —
telepathy works…
come closer

Miles Kane

whole lotta love

outmoded are those that wanted
you and me not to get together;
outraged, the time wanted to be
in trend too and paralyzed the seconds,
both of us to roam like two crazy
between each other’s thoughts;
but the moon intervened and with
gold threads it glazed our souls;
the sea dancing in circles
through you and me,
it dressed us with her breeze
in a mating ritual of senses
to dispel away everything we felt
as a homework of culpability
even if we’ve got puzzled…
nothing and nobody could stop us…
tenacious, we still dare, we still dream…
you’re wanting me… I’m wanting you…
whole lotta love


Led Zeppelin

my favorite faded fantasy

even when i’m waking up later in the morning,
i make time to put a drop of a rose on my lips,
just enough to fable to me a thrilling whisper
at the rendezvous with the happiness you are,
one of my favorite faded fantasy lost willingly
with your alluring essences into my essences
un p’tit je ne sais quoi © ᶜᵒᶜᵒ
Damien Rice

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