poetry

The Affair

Vintage Photo of a 1950s couple in the forest by a stream. See more vintage photos of couples in love at www.vintageinn.ca blog #1950s #love #valentinesday #vintagephotography #1950sfashion #couples
There isn’t a sight that does not make me think of you
of your auburn burning skin in the heat-
a poem so soft on your lips,
it almost is center of all light
I produce
an inflammable kiss
awake
with fumes coalescing into fumes of rainbows
The body rises from something so chalky beneath
an enormous restlessness
traversing nights and days

I wish to remember days like these
beneath my frolic skirt
above my trembling belly
I wish to swallow your blank stare
your stare that revolves like a tangerine sky
with leftover peels of my summer orange.

I wish to remember dry afternoons
with a song inserted in my mouth
a bee that rotates like a tulip
between our fingers entwined.
Like all things of love and soft music.

poetry

Desires

38 Sweet Snapshot Show How to Have Romantic Kisses on Valentine's Day ~ vintage everyday

 

Of lust I must speak to you.
This body glows like a river
only too thin to bend over you.

Acknowledge the minuteness spread onto my face
across the loose limbs that floats in the air.

Of beauty –
I come to you,
spreading a knob of orange garden
where the time collapse and stops for a moment.
This moment captures us,
to bind us for a sparkle of glory
Of Tongues and tongues
I dream of point of indulgence
A point that emerges from my bottom to your top-
Plants in the cold rain
like diluted streams of romance

You row in the nectar of my oozing moonflowers
Atop my bosom you sit like a wax
spreading an ensemble of winter dreams and summer breeze.

You do not stop there.
I announce carnivals in my womb.
It does not stop. It glows further.


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poetry

The truth of this Skin

This Skin is transparent, like a stitch to spew,
 to flatter the moments of despair.
 The bruises occur,
 with an open mouth
 an empty sheet of braided dreams
 this skin claps and claps
 with a bowl of spewing lotus,
 and a hollow dripping hocus-pocus

Peppermint& honey drops
 with earbuds sagging,
 this skin melts,
 in the oceanic mouth of yours.
 Or this skin divides
 in my repetitive sins and sins.

I gasp and pray
 till my body collapse
 with a dying hint of clove,
 wafting breeze of paddy fields
 this skin smiles.
 Like polaroids humming
 in the crux of
 my immune skin.

INSTAGRAM- MY VALIANT SOUL

©MVS- NaPoWriMo#16

poetry

missing-breaths

How do you define my perforated body aches with meteors dissolving? It’s an harrowing scenario with blood screams, thunders stuck to my backbone. Lipids going haywire and my eyes swollen with a pool of tyranny. Nostrils flutter like vintage sheets of paper, obsolete in obscure point. A point of missing mornings and seasons.
Each night, i hang like a loose memory, thermometer and fever, clinging my spinal cord and striking deaths and sins of sinisters.
The autumn leaves wrapped to my bare skin,defying the existence of bequeathed lives I survived. The midnight burning oils & lamps. The clocks of death. And my earthly body.

I perspire like an old lady, clinging to the curtains of pink breaths. With a casket of stars & hope swallowing like an infant, I fight oh yes I do. I precipitate and conjure in my linings of thin mucus, coughing disgusts and disgusts.
How do you define my motionless body now?©MVS

NaPoWriMo#23


poetry · prose

When -the -pendulum- strikes

During nights, my body becomes a range of chemicals. The nocturnal nails dip in the swamp of black thoughts. My windowsill evaporates, fumes of my detailed miseries. It’s not saddening what my mind does to my hand and arms. My hair bun, all soaked in summer sweat, dripping anxiety like forlorn tales of missing cities and people. Cleaved heart with tossed skin, my yellow skin delivers light during the phosphene of night.Tangling and swinging, the ebb of my calves lift up like candle flames floating. I cling moist conversation to my entire body parts. Inch by inch. I unwrap the stagnant proliferating blood shadows slowly as my cigarette fades. Silence is the best healer. The wounds chop the underlying skin, razor teeth on my mind. Time defies body, time defies truth, time defies the eye.

I often take a pen and mark my mouth with words and poetry. Periphery protects a savoured soul. Soil: it marks the beginning and the ends like a mirror-crack. Insanity is not what I would call it! During nights, my body regenerates, a cotton swab soaked and firm like Osmosis emerging inside. My body becomes wild.
It’s a symmetry of red dot with a black line. It delivers a soliloquy speech of life and death. Something that my orchid coffin understands and my bizarre soul knows. Chemistry shoots up my body like a talking death hoop. During nights, my body eats my mind.

©MVS- NaPoWriMo#3


poetry

Moonlit Romance

Imagine walking on your balcony to a moon this close...
image credits- Pinterest

“Under your skin, the moon is alive”- Pablo Neruda

My body has gone counting
The twists and folds of your skin.
My hands have carved a tattoo
plunged into your chest,
where a basket of sunrises glitter
like the moon’s hideous smile.
I have heard the murmurs of your heart
where white earth blooms.
Like sagacious door-knob,
And the small key-hole,
where I flow like mesmerizing dust,
Aurora hair sparkles,
golden Orion of moon slice resists in you.
Crackles, splinters, chills, winters
found in your wet earlobe,
as I walk upon the moist earth,
my sagging dreams
only to meet your infinite luscious skins of skin.

©My Valiant Soul


poetry

The Art of This-Body

Sidney Carter (Canadian,1880-1956) Portrait after Dante Gabriele Rossetti's The Blessed Damozel, ca 1906.  National Archives of Canada
Pinterest

Helplessness running through the haze of clouds,
Hands swinging, liquified skin and slaps of salt grains.
I prick my soul, to check the shrieking
the altitude coincides with a marriage ritual
in the Altar, in the temple
Between the moist lips
The air halts, pause
and my skin kisses my eyes
Conundrum,    Abortion
Throbbing of mind, the paintings of my room cracks now
like the white eggshell
I drink the art of this moment,  quiet now
I rub alcohol and ashes on my face
Indexation and outnumbered faces,
I am colourblind, I am crooked, oh still I count the maths
I run until I fall to melt into the sand
and to begin my heavy footsteps again and again
My body is sinking, catch, catch.
It may fall like a sharp needle pointed towards the foothills
It may rise like shedding of words on paper
Catch, Run. Catch, Hold. Breathe.

©MVS


 

poetry

Together

Image result for romance art

This orange leaf splinters further,

reflecting your beautiful naked skin to me.

In the pool of stars, I feel the icicles of chills

Spreading onto your neck, spreading onto your lips.

I count breaths between your lips and my moist temple-like mouth

Engulfing charisma of your liquid veins, I stand still to weave a knot of adoration,

from the stars of your Lilly- thighs to my oblivion body.

©My Valiant Soul


poetry

This- Body- is -Truth

 

Color Magic #Brown | Ayami Kojima - Persephone
image credits- Pinterest

 

A basket of floral patterns started right here, from my proclaimed beauty.
I was beautiful, like a cast of Aurora on the Himalayas.
First, I learned and swallowed truth with honey, so was the birth of my eyes.
this deep, hazelnut mosaic eyes
My body contacted with the blatant Moon, who marked my naked body
with thorns, countless emotions of twists and turns
And I was carved with my first outcry, I walked the truth and devoured it
In a pool of bells and music, Bloodstains I see
piled up as dead leaves, choking my pharynx
loading my teeth,
so I spill….I spill the truth, the unsparing bowl of parasites
an invisible ladder of truth
and so the truth was born, inside my flesh
I inhaled the truth…decorated its scratch on my lips
for this body is a truth.
Screams, numbness, volatile bubble of love.

©My valiant Soul


 

poetry

A Hoax

Incandescent vapours of sunshine,
Forms on Orphic pattern of hope, miseries.
I walk like a daydream, butter on paper.
Found to the known, lost to the soil..who am I?
Imbricated like orange peels,
Stuck like a star-dust to my mundane house ceilings.
Where, roses and feathers caress my faith,
Only to know, this table and burning body is all just a hoax.

-My Valiant Soul