Blue Light

 

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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.



 

Poetry

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Under the clear skies with pearls of white words,
I knit my word into my emotion, repeat the process
brush, brush, and blink, blink.
Taking the ecstasy onto my teeth, I feel the caress of my saddest lines,
put it on my fragile white shoulder,
then cut my words and swallow the ink,
this is how I started Poetry.

With a blank space between my fingers,
with a crooked faith,
my breast was swollen with fire, the unflinching desire
thumping my murky pen, producing a river of composed mind,
producing the glitters of fairy dust
this is how I started Poetry.



 

For I am a Woman.

Tan suave y lleno de arte con pequeños olores esparcidos que captas de pronto durando un segundo. Three Rivers Deep (book series).

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 I am a protrusion of rose,
hiding the black spot of the moon in my valour
that rises white dandelions on your skin.
My finger bones creak my virtues,
giving a red shade to the once grey shadow
for I am a Woman, invincible like mammoth stars,
I seek, I wander through the rim of sidewalks
conjuring in roles only unspeakable of.
I walk, I swim, I conquer, I am a swollen mass of expectations
I carve sunflowers, lavender on my forehead,
a thorn indeed wrapped in the interiors of my lips,
my sun-baked lips,
still the succulent lips
oh! My lips.
And then my heart speaks a language of ripe fruits,
yellow pages, white pages all inside
burning a canopy of emotions
Decaying, nurturing, flourishing.
for I am a woman, invincible like mammoth stars.


Sacred Earth

 Like a distinctive shine, my heart palpitates for your convex smile,
the dewy lips romancing with a shooting star,
the prodigious forest inside my body receives a gust of fragrance,
your beatific touch that glitters my waistline, oh, my man!
Between lips and parched lips, resides a mystical cacophony
yarning a crown of butterflies to decorate my atlas of body
to receive the markings that spread through my milky breast
where the darkness vanishes in the monotony of time,
I smell my bed sheet, the spots you rocked me,
clinging on the jasmine night,
that gave an ephemeral shake, a tremor to our naked souls.
A thunder I produced, inside my poppy finger-nails
where I captured your aroma,
as a pearl of delight: my necklace
I want your immortal touch inside the folds of my skin,
sucking my tongue
residing in the interiors of my temple shaped body,
I have known moist cities and pale humans
putting a slumber to my desire,
And snickering to my crooked jawline
where the goddess even hides in cold evenings.
I have seen sanity, insanity.
I have been tattooed with thorns of roses
wrapped around my neck, suffocating, killing, devastating.
And here I survive in your crisp prism blurry image
turning around the previous thorns as a cultivated seed.



 

Newborn Me

 

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image credits- my valiant soul

Time: An acerbic motionless protest cling to my feet,
abstruse it lies on my face disguised as the
murky hair-strand, defining today’s black solitude
whiffing tomorrow’s grey death.
Friable snippets of my today’s sorrow still exist,
lying on my wet sheet of the chopped pillow
as the translucent water drops on my oak tree,
Dissonant hangings still sing bliss
while my insipid dulcet arms cross each other in anguish.
I see a black star, death perhaps?
I see a white star, sufferings perhaps?
Convulsions of betrayal paralysis my lower half
in the basket of crooked watermelon slices.
I knead the vacuum of Orion, stepping into the loophole
of the web of time, knots constrain my teeth,
Now, time halts inside my empty stomach
echoing the bulge of a lump of void dust.
Brushing the remnants onto my airy skin,
The striking of pendulum in my upper eyelid
gives the aftermath to a newborn me.

 


©my valiant soul

If I were a shadow.

Through the slices of segmented desire
Where the circumference of my peevish skin expands,
I inhale into the tiny molecules that flourish these numb walls,
Mending a crack,
With a mist of romance,
A point of lust, a point of a dainty smell of you.
I walk through the ruptures of placid walls enunciating your presence,
And I peel the rim of this cucumber time zone
Where my legs fall in the abyss of surreal moments of you,
Like clicking of needles, rainwater puddle upon my iris,
Now beaming
As if I were a shadow of your dream.
A dream worth swallowing the darkness,
Just to produce the moon’s composure, a debonair companion.