i can slurp stars out from the sky
garnishing your surreal body,
where my lips stick to your moist words.
A refined way of picking your name.
Coltish your patterns give me jolts, often.
you have mirror- mosaic eye,
one’s that make your body numb.
A piquant chisel touch, maybe.
A lampshade residing beneath our bedsheet,
capturing our love,
observing our total madness.
we decide our own insane galaxy, love
Branches of sky
uttering words of roar,
it gives a mirage of October
A swamp of shining fingers,
saying poetry in love.
I have a strange connection to poetry,
it kills and speaks to me,
unlike you and your methods.
A death star, on repeat.
And I celebrate my October,
doused in the bowl of slippery nights.
a bumblebee of your name comes
and sticks to my comatose body
strewing words of your lips,
porcelain slick drops of rain.
There I am, endlessly counting
the threads of time,
your body like chemicals rushing,
talking tounges, flesh sinking in nature.
something surreal we deliver to autumn,
a painted silhouette of love.
We gulp the harrowing throb of time,
inhaling the movements of our doused body,
in a swamp of emblematic sheets of symmetry.
We become a pattern, a floral one,
this is how i take you,
Afternoon red sun.
i am distilled, and obnoxious
like sane tulips swaying there,
a touch of petrichor, moist air.
Mouths of surreal tongue,
like sky uttering poetry.
Peels of orange zest
stuck to my tongue,
shading my mouth.
cold, frivolous air
slapping my cheeks,
lamps of cold night lit.
I sit and observe,
how summers played with my brain,
now the winters will do the same
an art of regeneration,
Pain comes from the folds of dark corners.
Tunnels and swamps of chemical emotions
peeling inner skin,
chop chop chop
a sound of pain,
winters are like this,
they fumble inside your body,
like a thing so beautiful.
Each day i grow poetry out of my stillborn toes
where words drip honey, moisture and powder to evolve,
Words. They rotate inside my iris, whirlpooling like catharsis.
Inch by inch, shifting like the moon,
embossing the sky, they perch on orchids,
to suck nectar,
to suck poetry from there.
And I see and grow outnumbered limbs all over my body.
The facets from my skin leak poetry as a seduction,
Romancing to ink, stains and silhouettes,
Life’s favourite romance is with poetry.
I have prolonged life maybe
and words are a lengthy delusion,
Quieter yet stronger.
I lit a forest inside my body.
” I am terrified by the dark thing that sleeps in me”- Sylvia Plath
Cluttered, torrential nights of stone sinking throat,a huge titanic of this time,
my sheets turning into white ghost,
a ghost of you,
my words that were never said.
You, the lantern of chipped nights,
A mesh of annihilation.
You come and perch on my dreams, like satan a missing subsisting eye or a lip. Time kills me before you make me dark, dark as my old rusty windowsill,
with a dying flaky dream.
this thing inhuman wraps my skin of lemon peels
my skin of words and reverie.
my darling skin…
( continuous screams of inexplicable pain, now/)