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?
i watch you sleeping in the coldness nights of eve-dropping
with my vapid blue chipped nails, still gasping for breath,
i watch you like a surrealistic, walking above the ocean
to touch the mouths of lost and valleys of lights.
I turn and twitch on the bed of mirrors,
it has parts of your liquid face
gonging, cracking my lips of butter
i still watch you,
from my heavy breasts to my small hands
like a cauldron of wavelengths, skewered apart
still dropping words of a decayed autumn leaf.
this body is lipids and a segment of cosmic lights
deluged in moist concave conversations,
with oneself, with you.
You call me honey, and I begin to melt
like an Orion of mouths and skins of Gods murmuring.
My breaths slip in the ocean, the sky still succumbed
of last night’s naked love
Breaking inside you,
i wish your eyes of chocolate rain
closed, loved, closed, mine.
Harbour of jolting smiles,
fever, broken radio voice.
all is here,
in my black pitch room,
in my crisp tongue.
And i watch you breathing, singing.
i can’t mend things perfectly
like a soothsayer in my vagina
asking to rise- a phoenix of morality
but i cant do a thing flawlessly you see-
i have a thing forsaken to blend
with another skin of my body,
cerulean dreams of raisins and chestnut
i am black
i am broken,
pieces jittered in a jigsaw game
so i can’t cook food for you,
neither i can wash sublime clothes,
naked your soul-let it be ah!
my fingers are flaky,
monsoon in one part of the world-
unrest in a soliloquy of dreams,
yes i bleed while sleeping, morose cryptic ways
yes, i am numb,
sour apple jam to lick and throw.
I am all of that,
like a lotus in the salina.
Skin is music
skin is lyrical,
regenerating faces of loss
and i cling to it till
i drop my ashes to rest.
©Image and words of MVS
we look at the same clouds.
the same loose hanging blue tint of our elbow.
we sniff the same sky,
the paper balls of dreams.
ah, it reminds me of your whole body.
a map cascading through your hairline to your hip.
a sky resides there too.
The water. The rain.
The crinkling sheets of staircase.
the steps that go mad.
mad/ inflated/ swing.
i often want to hold your breath
between my palms, a souvenir of Cupid’s.
or maybe preserve and turn in into a vintage burp.
oh yes, i can swallow this sky.
i can swallow you.
for we both are liquid,
between the squirming gasps.
there is a corner of Life.
up in the grey, lava, fat sky.
we shall meet like dust, like a sound.
like a pool of soft indentation.
in the sky.
calamitous whiff and your black eyes.
A memoir of rusty olives.
hanging like saliva from my forehead.
I am a bizarre lady with a half lit moon.
I have been a lover, a mistress, a daughter.
a tempest swirling from the eye of truth.
Slipping from the gullet of time.
And now, i create a fantasy of hallucinations.
An empty bed with an empty mirror.
to collect the parenthesis of wishes and words.
a violet mauve touch of my small finger.
these hours are sand of jewels.
perfume stuck to my wrist that clicks plum nectar,
i walk alone now,
like hair swinging wildly in the summer breeze,
i watch myself o this mirror,
it choked me to death.
I might walk alone tomorrow also,’
while going to the market for my pills
shifting from the vents of miniature delights.
a cloying disease.
I know the pain,
Irrevocable moisture on pillow.
the fights between the pills and cactus
morning lust with skeleton.
Quick thick penumbra,
a hysterical sigh each day.
purgative blood makes you strong i think
something out there makes you more black
and you hold and clasp,
till you gulp and swallow
i know that surreal romance,
of seizures and tears,
of ink and words.
Read my poetry published on this amazing journal Dying Dahlia review
you sit on my corrosive neck and feel the black void spot,
i have bones made of bone-china and a little neck to proceed.
i stand and look for you in aberrant currents,
i split daylight across your arms.
to know the layers of your skin & words
i perform rituals day after day.
A windswept memory tucked between your lips.
a grey memory folded like velvet curtains.
i imagine you in a surrealistic way.
A song to hum, to ingest the threads of madness.
i think of you in moments of cacophony that stich my ears with a soft noise of you.