A love song

Magic Moonlight Free Images: Romance!

Let's roll our tobacco tongues together,
a song so pure, the poetry of cosmos.
I have a word stuck on my eyelid
to love
to walk on the lines of your mind.
A world created of seismic waves.
And this bedsheet witnessing our lovemaking,

I have a love song
hidden under my blouse,
intricate as my palms,
detailed full womb of springs.
A song,
parallel of being
A single light.

And we suck this night
out of the paper straw,
this mulberry night of waves and potions.
We suck the air
making the atmosphere thin and fragile.
This galaxy is now
plucked from the hands of our infinite words.

check out my poetry published on Vita Brevis.
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A sinned anatomy

 

Legs, 1958 ~ vintage everyday

I am a sound today,
an inaudible gentle drop of a midsummer dream.
Look,
I have a scarred arm,
degenerated now,
An ear so small,
obnoxious ways of survival.
I evolve each day, still melting on toes.
Funeral baths peeling my cold skin.
There is abnormality happening on Thursdays,
and a prayer going on inside my head on Sundays.
I know too much on Mondays and
I become a sinner on Saturdays.

Look, I may slip monthly,
slipping almost like a surreal fall
with patches and band-aids sewed to the body.
I fail to be a silver moon
A hollow void that sits on my lap,
nonchalantly bleeding songs of despair.
I am all at once,
an elastic curve of black fragility.

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/

A sedative

What's the most beautiful paragraph or sentence you've ever read? | Thought & Sight

I want to quieten my mind
and each day I would count ways to do that.
Popping pills backward / gazing at the starlight
until dawn slaps me all over again.
A memory of death fidgets with my tectonic body.
I become so slow.
slow like degrading with the earth.

I count ways to quiet my mind while writing this poem.
There is a drop of water on my palm which freezes my hand,
like a singular stem of the numb horizon.

Hush, hush, hush.

I see my reflections
dying in the soiled air that slips upon my lips.
Violet and brown.
A colourless dream often.
I want to rest quietly,
with no connections any more

I could stare a small spot on the ceiling
like a moth
trying to endure a lie.
My words are epileptic today
just like me, all wobbly.
I stand here in a sitting position like a lotus,
and my organs defy my breath.
This poem is a bizarre,
try not to comprehend anymore.

A prayer

the infernal devices

a prayer so soft
I mumble each time
There is a method I perform my chants
like sticking to the table,
thumping my wrist against my forehead.
I wish to sneeze while praying
to eject sins,
a horror bowl that rests between my toes,
twirling softly and eating me bite by bite.

My prayers are often lullabies.
Muted voices
you scavenge while dreaming.
I pray
and pray
and pray
to sniff a piece of hope.
I do speak in four voices
that swirls my lock of hair.
Goosebumps now.
I repeat my prayers when I am a shadow of a fallen sky
a bird that refuses to watch me.
nature has its way to corner from the human.

Without a shard of primrose,
A scourge of shaved earth.
And I change places
to chant
to sleep
to pray
till I see a circumference of white powder
there, inside my mind
blooming the entire prayer
in colors of myth and violet rain.

 


Submit your writings for Olive Skins. Check out the post here

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Quietly, the wind comes,
transforming into a pointed dagger of a muse.
The murdered landscape of colors bleeding,
trying to ingest the muse.
A quarrel between violet homes
defeated and uprooted.

Unfurling stitches of dead mouths.
Colors deformed. Bright neons
& curled blues.
A white sky now turned red, opaque.
This space, an empty eye.
Nothing is forever.

What about your muse?

Pivot

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.