My poetry is my religion.
rub, rub
this ripple of water
on my lips
that twitch & break.
A lotion of rain,
winds collected in my eye
and a nude vase of arm,
that hums a cerulean sigh.
An acoustic of roses
swivelling my nerves
a blue vacant vein
now full & warm.
rub a spot of clouds
onto my bosom of emptiness.
a tongue only knows moisture
a tongue only knows a life beneath.
A joy emerges
from the shamble
of splintered life.
rub, rub, rub
a butterfly, a moth,
a window of blueberry night.
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
I have a craving tonight
for a slice of sun
or moon- talks, in runs.
to decipher the poultices
hidden beneath and above,
somewhere between your lips
& paradise,i have a craving
for your love
as soft as petals of Petunia
a craving to count you
& your terminals,
your folds of skin.
i have a craving to
melt into you,
with skins kissing.
a craving to burn pan cakes
and smudge the edges against us
like a paper ball dancing,
silhouettes swaying,
to put my mouth on your tongue,
to suck your scars
& to incubate it with my
infinite love.
©MVS
end of #NaPoWriMo.
i know the formations
when i had your face
close to my lips.
voids went flickering
with aerospace dissolved
in the hymns of my carrot eyes
i tore up the blatant sky
that rummage your body
and your smell,
for i sleep with my eyes
dipped in your presence.
Soft balls of cotton inside
thundering my long legs
all about your hair-locks
all about your language of love.
I become vintage inside
your dewy arms and moles.
Your words, temple bells.
The whiteness of a damp canvas
augments as my pupil cries
for a slick kiss to form knots.
Knots of bond. Memoirs.
Ceremonies. Togetherness.
©MVS
