Wounds

I just published my poetry collection Crimson Skins on Amazon. Check it out. / The night has a soft pattern to dismantle my body< Quiet a as hushed wound with a flat curvature of a splitting fruit, my body is a temple to wounds, a temple to eat things that are fleshy. The night lamps

From Olive Skins

As you all know, I have started this lit magazine especially curated for abstract and surreal poetry which means a lot to me and so I urge you all to head over to this link and read this amazing poetry from a fellow poet. Please like, share and follow if you appreciate the work. https://oliveskins.com/2019/06/head-island-time-and-wave/

Greys and black

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

Music of pain

a voice is creating a map inside breaking my legs, my arms into the eye of nothingness i see nothing. i feel nothing. my lids are dropping day by day i considered rescuing poetry, the pale fonts, tampered words and it ate me, slurping mouths, Vermillion floating mirrors, stuck to my lips and cracking the

A vintage truth

Photographs are blurred memories, of faked, chipped, plastered walls cracking like walnuts, eating its own body- Walls & bones dissolving inside the tooth of dust, memories can be fatal, if picturized or vandalised. All memories collide inside flaky cheeks producing abhorrence of stars, photographs stick like a parasite to your naked soul & exposes the

this poem is a liquid moon

My nights are inked to the soiled sheets of tears where the callous jaw bleeds inhuman poison, or a thing pale as your heart i sew it up to my nostrils, cold the fragrance, shrieking my inside pits, its dark, like blank spaces Everything seems to be a show- off your hands, your lips my

The art

your slurpy mouth holds magic to sediment a stoic seed of silence, like silence. calm shades governing, a tip-toed saliva of blank eyes, a life kissing a life. behind your earlobe, the sky falls, in tunes of carbon thick slices of carbon. coal romances with fire, life exists everwhere. ©MVS

How I want you

My fingers are our lips, deluged & soaked in our memory of sunset walls, with an eye of the heart, scavenging our skin, altogether, in patterns, i want to be your mouth always moist, always full, with soft pearls of moth, i want all of your body. image& words ©MVS

Dreams and talks

I could smell your wine, your amniotic sheets of pure stars and silicon lullaby, regenerating my outgrown toes and stale stairs. this head wrap is a lie, if your nights do not talk to mine. You become my pool of waters and waters that kills my dead skin, on repeats. You wander, like a dream

Moments

I eat the brevity of moments piece by piece in irregular, circular motions like the daunts of rain the daunts of greys with cerulean eye- dots. These limbs are an array of woollen mouths fragmented and ruffled, in the moments of despair in the moments of sunsets. I conjure and swallow all that occurred here,