poetry

a forgotten memory

I am a forgotten memory
with a quiet mouth of a clock( a chain that clogs my neck)
a forgotten yellow tainted page, blank as an ocean.
These people i see, i smile at my own hands,
my own chin, my deep purple intense eye(i know it has an intense shape of a flower)
softly listening all songs
swallowing the delusional veins and freckles of my hands,
i know i am a memory.

forgotten like vintage telephones, crooked voices
90’s soft love collecting silver dust from mouth to mouth,
movement of the breeze, a song of nostalgia.
Sepia. Broken pencils. Vintage poetry.
forgotten like that.

,©Image an Words MVS

poetry

Something-burns/

fears, apparitions
 all in the fist of sun
 drunk like Orange ghost
 I sip a string of velvet curtain
 palpable strings of night
 i take the atmosphere home,

Autumn breaking down,
 in need of denouement
a phase of psychosis-
 what does a star desire?
 Hope, freedom
 or a song to sing itself.

®MVS
poetry

Leakage/ people & us

it is surreptitious how words rain
during seasons of pain
nectar of firmaments, rising
and deluging into loops of despair
it’s the process of leakage
walking like a cool breeze.
Cold, distilled swollen branches
humming/

leaking/

inside/

outside/
open your mouth and it’s empty
hollows of ankle melting,
people leak like a morose sigh
a dripping curtain of velvet drops.
it’s the branch
running like the wildflower
cold nostrils,
the moon is sewn like a conch.
they all will slip tomorrow.


©image and words-MVS

poetry

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 pain
on the floor for you to dance,
it’s a pattern.
it kills and kills
obdurate music of pain.
such coldness slipping,
stopping the clock of gods,
speaking or praying.
this coldness is chilling
with a hint of a lone heart.
i die here.

©Image and words-MVS

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poetry

I carry spring & children

Image result for mothers vintage
i have a tongue of colours
with rooms of spaces,
mapping you & me.
A Polaroid stitch of sinking,
like bubbles
erupting in my hollows
of womanhood,
i have an eye like the sky-
drugged, fuller lips
with ashtray of hopes,

I spin in my own body,
toes kissing head
heads going missing-
like a reality fading,
Is it a kind of operation taking place?
Anxious hair fanning my tanned skin,
I carry children & autumn
both sleeping in my dreams,
like you-
you faggot skinned- mammal
and you smirk my Lilly shadows
as always.
as always.
poetry

Smokes and kisses

Hundred lipped mouths, wet and poppies
exist in our cities of rains and puddles
Throbbing eyes, milky jolts,
with lush moments of air and air,
Crisp, transparent, the air.
Peeling layers of our shaved skin,
sun-kissed scars and plateaus of the mole.
I smirk and rise like molten frames,
with eyes skinning past memories of lust,
Eulogies swinging, comrades of dandelion.

I knit your lips to my vainglorious body
for the fingers count your aches and twists,
I dilute in your convergence and liquid formation
Hourglass, my silhouette sinking.
You expand your inundate fingers,
they hallucinate my feminity,
with orgasmic temples,
caressing green fields, my stomach
undrapes, silk gowns floating.
aurora candle-lit stars,
my polar body diverged, fluttering
with caskets of thin films
of smokes and kiss.


©MVS- NaPoWriMo