Autumn reminds me of things untouched,
glass window, stains on the broken leaves,
cup and cigars, molasses of thunder
I bend and whiff the rosemary bowl of smells,
incessant yearning smell of dear darling
a voice of hypnotic fluid, lush green in my blood
Chewing lemon grass like an ant of wisdom,
i pick and collect theories of autumn love,
(i have been dying already autumn summons now)
People say a thing is beautiful, if loved
and so i ingest this orange season of cruise and clumps,
like a cluttered bun- knot,
my injured knee pain.
A canticle to slip in my dreams,
slender like the shape of my body.
scissors of tongues missing
like threads sewing volcanoes.
And my lazy tears twist my body like valleys.
I sip pain,
i see pain.
I hear and live pain(patterns corrosive)
With footsteps entwining my jawlines.
A narrow gauge of breaths and pool of sadness
this moment doe that abrupt epilepsy to me,
this dark hollow night,
underneath the white sheet of smiles,
a monster hides.
Each day is a delusion,
my words and poem a levitating hue of cry.
The modal of life explained in a Polaroid,
i might die writing this last piece,
softly, like autumn i shall moult,
into a panorama of white skin
hanging loose, pale parchment paper.
a breathless wildflower of atoms falling.
a cold sliver slap of time,
i sense darkness, in a pool of parched lips,
eyes shut, heart shut
limbs shut, mind shut.
and there i am
a wallowing question of an existence,
kneading a rope of knot
Once again, i walk in portions,
an adamant sustenance of life..
My voice is a purgatory lie.
a solemn inhuman thread of existence,
the voice of this teeth crackling,
fingers going numb during cold shaky nights.
moist, stinking, moist language of nights.
A honeysuckle stung of a tear marking my white body,
flowerless, wavelengths of blurred nights again and again
you come and sit inside my skull,
you will perhaps have boneless maps of jitters.
And humans stink.
they stink like an abrupt old fist.
Mouths of dry saliva. Hollow and hopeless.
A frenzied attack of humans is like the orange peel.
you wish to unveil the skin,
it pokes your eye like a stencil.
And my mind talks to my heart,
in endearment still unknown
of soiled tattered sheets of oblivion.
Elis has a paper ball texture, crisp and crumpled veins of love. Her nakedness is the march towards the fruits of springs, countless motions of time. Her liquid lips, cryptic to herself. She neatly defies the existence of frailty.
The frailty of summer’s hope and frailty of meadows spring.
The heaviness of swamp and linguistic seizures weighs her down, sinking her hand and arm. Missing parts of reality. A cocoon of dissatisfaction. A body of uncountable heavy eyelids. Elis does not speak of her curves and eyes, she dedicates her body and sacrifices her tongue. Rituals of greys and blacks.
Elis curls up her lips like a slice of burning orange peel. Her breaths, heavy, dissected, summoned like a stone eating her tongue. Her thigh eating her faith.
Elis craves and prays. For solitude to be her only stay.
you will find ink blurb, parched words,
acoustic in air,
a hot burning potpourri
and my ink romancing with words.
this is what i will leave when i die-
a torn cloth, stinking souvenirs,
words like thick and sick stick to my tongue,
a concave road of anxiety on my wrists.
for i had no people in my pockets,
i had no eye contact,my conversations with stars
made me fall in love with the moon,
and its dark now, nocturnal love.
between the lampshade of lips and my porcelain lips
i carry your honeycombed shadow
like a lust covered body, screaming in rose love
i have a reason to lick your face,
your breaths in ways flickering
Beneath the mole of my chin, a night rests
it slithers a square black fit
like an earthquake, an earthquake
Metaphors of sun and moon lies
in my womb,
my place of sanity
inside me choking with your love
a surreal slip of owls & hunters
clambering unearthed lilies
You are blue.
You are grey.
You are colourless.
i have a reason or two to bite
your pages, the books of love
Phantom protrusion of amnesia.
Pills of intoxication
Bay of Bengal splashing my bosom
drop by drop, with chills neurotic
A wasp breaths and moans
slitting a thread.
I have my reasons, darling
to love you.
Ambrosia twirls like a cocktail
thick mouth swarming of dreams,
filling the cracks,
the walls, the ceilings, the mouth
the feverish body.
I have a thousand reasons darling
to love you now.