This syndrome I carry, Seraphic, a butterfly in cocoon churlish eyesight, colliding with your wounds. I will sew your pain Believe me, for I am the traveller of scars, I will kiss your moonlit tears and the paths it travelled, I am an archaic smell of vintage champagne. I shall regenerate always, I shall not die, and when I do, I shall with you.
Pellucid petals of lust,
I, lean over to smell the paper,
Where I lament my dead hopes
My pen is pervicacious
inclined to savour the smoke ignited.
The words are my soul,
Insatiable I am dipped in its white corona.
Cathartic particles of serenity forms
as I write my love,
The paper, the pen, the paper-cuts
soaks me in its sullen charm.
And I declare my writing — my muse.
Carry my heart to the other side
where the scent of petunias swirl on my cheekbones,
something divine, something spiritual
Sparkling diamonds inside my smile,
clinging to my feet, the waters are sublime.
Into that wild path, my destination awaits
where fresh rock-dust picks up the moonlight
forming a ball of yellow delight.
Splash, splash, splash.
Here I am wet in the unblended Opulent offing.
My thoughts unravelling like thick fog
Alcoholic eyes, sullen as raisins.
Metamorphosis of a vibrant soul
dripping dry dust only to absorb
Elysian crisp, orange air.
Dewdrops like sacred groves
twirling on my parched lips,
with lavender Twinings inside
pouring muddle Serenity echo
on the surface of once
the brutality is hidden
lost, in the delights
of frozen warm apple-pie.
A loop of twinkle fields
decorate the darkened corners
of my throat, my white leg
like a partner in poignancy
with fireflies inside the mouth.
with you, I connect the solitude
extending onto my calm thoughts
mending the broken door knobs
and planting a loop of hope.
My wax finger slithers across your extolling caricature
In the Elan black eyes you carry, sun-baked secrets.
Like the winter chills and pepper on thighs cascading
in the solitaire eyes of the mountain, I see your lips
Your smooth, divine lips uttering the catastrophic formulation
Like obeisance of your footsteps in the haze of sultry moisture.
I see you drinking nectar from my sweet neck,
Giving me a basket of rainbows embellished in my navel.
And, with your lips and my dreams,
there is a heavenly comet, a magic potion,
Sunkissed dreamcatchers, succulent winsome bodies.
Turquoise skin flowing beneath the
reflection of the concave mirror,
speaking the language of mammoth desires,
forming marks on the human soul.
The surreptitious lustre blithe the chilly touch
corroding the sides and there I stand
inhaling the crisp blue air,
decoding, unfolding life’s intense
burrows, choking into blue whispers,
I slap my tongue, tapping, brushing.
Pushing my parched mouth to vomit
black ashes and colliding into
this blue velvet dress,
that soaks the vapid apprehensions,
nurturing it to be a cherry-tree
masked as the new light, a feathers’ delight.
I see you hanging from the roots of the mighty moon that join the oblivion distance between our naked space. This space is Point Blank. Your screams scratch your inner linings of delicate skin, producing an hour of a shooting star. A river of pervasive murmurs.
I walk along, to slurp the pain, the gain, the withering, the blooming onto my toe ring, soothing yet mystical. Burn the ash, lit the fire. Do you see the distance?
Flicker the holy waters onto your collarbone, smell its corona like fragrance.
Melt along with me into fragments of desire, lost yet found.
The hypnotizing air around
And concoction of our wet breaths
This is where my sweet paradise is,
My soothing divine land.
Lost in the woods, dreadful sins are gone.
I bit your skin like unveiling that hidden magic,
I see more of you…
I see more of me…
Oh, your enchanting glory
Cascading on my fierce red lips
Soothing to my body and
I feel a total oblivion.
Rustling leaves, frosting ice
Flamboyant skies hiding a picture of us.
Time heals like spider’s web.
Autumn smirks on the mating of spring.
With every rainbow, I feel the dimensions of your tropical meadow.
With every light, I find my paradise.
I felt the apocalypse,
For I am the one under the blanket of disgrace
Vapours of sullen emotions clamouring the disgust chaos,
I knitted their faces, from core to core
till I knew the point blank.
The whole world, dreaming the dead leaves
an intoxication of swollen wisdom,
For time establishes time.
Reality bites my skin, leaving a yellow mark
a mark of insolent skins,
a mark of insolent smiles.
Dipping in the sublime extensions of rose petals,
churns my thoughts like a needle.
Poking and creating.
The aftermath shall be a mystery.
“I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair”— Pablo Neruda
In the sleepless nights of thunder and laughter,
I craved the shape of your mouth,
where the butterflies built a rainbow
soaking in the solemn orange skies.
Tranquility glitters as my reflection
and my anklets clamour my tears.
Oh, the moon weeps, upon the last September
where I was here and you still a dream.
In the memory of your conundrum body, I carve my outline onto your colossal caricature, The dreamy eyes, my paradise of lust I see my thighs dipping in your skin, biting the tiniest part, tearing the flesh to discover the hidden mirth Swaying my dark hair on your sturdy wet neck, I take the holy waters into my parched mouth, Insatiable breaths, defining my yearnings. As the galaxy smiles, the stardust tremors. My skin expands into the colour of our burning flames. The throbbing of heartbeats, instils the dandelions with thunder With the evolution of us, I discover a shadow of smiling moon in me, for I see her lining hidden into my belly-button. And , the spring is born.
Sacrosanct air, violet toes touching , spamming grounds
An eggshell face, with polka-dots
this family is vintage.
With bewildering tales, this air becomes scissor-talks,
A temple is burnt,
A miscarriage occurs,
The soil is pale black, the tremors are afraid
to knock the window pane.
You and I see this
We carry the stimuli of paranoia.
Splinters of forgotten prayers are stuck
to this void eye
Your brown eye,
my black eye,
What aftermath we plan?
Here, a lizard is awakened to walk across the parched souls
Here, a coffin is opened.
So we plan to walk into the land of oblivion words
where Grey- is the colour.
Wheels of fortune
like sour grapes, apple
tumbling my spirits.
Spirits of fire, unflinching
A ball of reveries, undiscovered.
Musty halcyon, a penumbra of elixir.
A soft cushion, a soothing balm.
The nectar of hubris dreams, drooling
in the breeze, a nimbus of dark clouds,
an array of shooting stars,
Wheels of Fortune
play me, trick me, devour me.
desiccate my veins, coconut shreds.
For if I rise, the earth shall tremor
The sea, scorching Sempiternal my initials
The moon bending down, as my furtive solace.