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M Solav Jul 14
Ô toi qui hélas aura daigné t’ôter la vie,
Mettant un trait au dessein que tu dessines;
Grande n’est-elle pas parfois la jalousie
De qui partage la misère qu’on te devine.

Ô toi qui aura su mettre fin au jour
Pour enfin écourter la longue nuit
En soufflant d’un seul et court souffle
Sur le scintillement de tes bougies.

Jamais ne sauras-tu
Qu'il fût un monde
Et quel monde!
Qui t'eût compris.

Comme il en prend du courage,
Et il en prend du mal de vivre
Pour faire la traversée de l’enfer
À l’origine de toute la vie.
Écrit en mai 2018 - pour un vieil ami disparu.
cindy Jan 2018
Juste pour cette soirée
Laisse-toi aller
J'ai les artifices
On mettra en feu cet édifice
Ce sera luxe, calme et volupté

Oublions l'embarras du quotidien
Pour cette soirée je t'appartiens
Hors de cet espace temporel
Tout semble difficile et artificiel
Ce sera luxe, calme et volupté

Embrase et embrasse
Ce soir on la joue à l'audace
Souffle et avale
L'ambiance est estivale
Ce sera luxe, calme et volupté

Sans répercussions ni chagrin
De notre aventure obscure
Je me délecterai jusqu'au matin
Sans blessure, sans rayure ni rupture
Ce sera luxe, calme et volupté
NLP Aug 2017
For you my art becomes somatic.
For you it melds asomatous and adroitness.
My oeuvre is intended for you
and so I bestow with the invisible ink,
of the mind that only you see,
the precious words thick with dreams
and hidden meanings.
L'œuvre de la Nuit
Showcased to an audience of only one
At 3am whilst the world waits on the sun.
Inspired by a masterpiece
My work has only just begun.
And we’ve many more sunset to dawns
To layer my ardor many times over
On your heart.
L'œuvre de la Nuit
Artwork of the night
NLP Aug 2017
You
Turn me into a poet aroused
by the beauty of your being and I
Feel the increasing need to impart,
to write with asomatous ink, many a stanza upon
the surfaces of the recesses of your heart.
My desire for you transforms me from beast
Into a composer with a symphony,
to compose lush chanson to reach
deep and strong within thee
until you vibrate with a thousand
instruments.
La nuit commence tout juste.
With such art fait la nuit
is there really need for sleep?
La nuit commence tout juste
the night is just beginning

Asomatous entered English in the mid-1700s from Late Latin asōmatus, which derives from the Greek asṓmatos "disembodied, incorporeal."

Oeuvre de la nuit
Work of the Night
Work meaning the sum of an artists works.
NLP Aug 2017
Tonight
I want first to explicate
and delve into the many ways
that I will love you
through ever so many days.
And afterwards to situate
the softest, and warmest touch
of lips like a painters wet brush
onto new canvas.
To seep into you like
a vocalists voice into new lyric.
To flow with you akin
a dancer gliding through the motions
of a grand romance, an
oeuvre cowritten by you and I
performed through the night.
oeu·vre
noun
the works of a painter, composer, or author regarded collectively.

De la Nuit
Of the Night
Glottonous May 2015
A star with night between her teeth; a girl
Staggers a dance of seven heels, less six.
Cues strewn along her route: a pin, a pearl,
A tired, ****** queen a-lean on bricks.
 
Though under veil of spotlight she makes sway,
No trace of rule remains on head or feet.
Each sunset swallowed before birthing Day
To toss to sirens feeding in the street.
 
Nocturnal vagrants fever dreaming deep
Her cafe consorts, seeking but a friend.
Mascara floods downstream where ducklings sleep,
So get her to a bed and to an end.
 
And though low trolls will ever tweet her shame
Each morning's jay will always sing her name.
A hot mess of a poem.
Prabhu Iyer Feb 2015
A puff of cigar in, mist, out
on the street, shrouding the
tracks and missed heart aches;

this morning, time,
is not kept by the ticking clock.

Only one vehicle has crossed the road.

Mellow sun warming up the snow
forever burying the tracks out;

The stubble's scruffy, and heart,
as dishevelled as the sheets;

Empty cups, full of memories -
and stained of the night's wine;

In the corners the embers still crackle:

leaning back on ease chair,
wondering
who it was that left early
this misty morning;
Classic noir: served with morning coffee.

.
aar505n Dec 2014
Il y a trop de pièges dans l'esprit.
Sans trêve, mes rêves tombent souvent
et crient comme ils brisent
comme anges lorsqu'ils tombent

La langue me démange
ce que bruit me dérange.
Mais personne ne me écoute
just a little poem, beening working on this for a bit.

— The End —