my dress is an Ocean of your orange skin,
the soft lullabies, tapping beneath the arms
joining cities of lust, a blue tip of tongue knowing
the pits of this coal lowlands,
it started with your wet tongue, caressing my lips
mouth like a band of tendons, tobacco burning in the palms.
your scripted hands, your oil dripping scripted hands,
they are imaginary lines in my mind.
thunder simmers in my skull, whitening the black
the deep-rooted balmy glass of kiss, stains and cigars.
Lemon and peeper sound, we sink in the moments of this.
and somehow you made me grow, preserving, pickling
beneath the dome heart of your nail,
i grew like a sun.
p.s- please keep up with me even if I am unable to reply your comments as of now.
it's your light
that sits silently on my ebb
with a swampy eye to observe.
Your branches of a season,
it's your lips on mine,
blue is my eye.
blue is my love.
Doused, my body in lipids.
Scattered, collected, yours.
these lips utter a pause of lipids
time after after
like a powdery cough.
they bloom and shatter
wisdom of lush lights
a fluid, a shade,
a soft sunset resting on my backbone
Each petal a dandelion of rays,
upwards and sidewards,
spitting veins dipped in blue ink
blue sky...a blue world.
Porcelain drops of dew
Like lust to wax
A moments of spurring thoughts
Defying existence, one by one.
There is the feeling of my wrists slipping oiled lights through my swollen thumb. Hay through pictures of past. A hum of lights and dust.
I turn through the thick air, a vacuum of period spaces. But I am more than this.
more than the grasshopper that sits and eats twig nonchalantly.
washed, wasted, my iris of dreams.
i could sit on the summer grass, the winter sun,
marking the gullets of the path.
something that wants me.
i remember my small fingers,
enclosed like a dainty lotus
afraid of lights,
for that light killed many people.
it is the thread of old vintage sheet i eat.
i eat memories.
i eat cities.
i eat streets.
All the lonely people- an anthology