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.
It’s like a sad part of my levitating body.
My fingers have a soft tendency to nurture, to sense pain.
and I sit on the lonely roads to pick up a saddened heart, to heal it.
sometimes, I have a feeling I am solid.
Solid like a vintage door, unbreakable.
Imperishable, who can swallow darkness inside darkness?
So, I produce light out of darkness.
I act like a mother to him, as well.
With clearwing moth like a skin of his,
sewing the gasps and sighs.
His body is made of a fallen moon, I believe so.
And at times, I am confused with the methods of love.
He is a rotating axis on my forehead.
he has leaked, the times I was leaking too.
And I kept quiet and sewed him again and again.
Like a silent prayer of pure holistic clouds.
my clavicle stuttering with the omen of noises.
Nothing is a flattened lie, but a departure.
My eyes are anxious now, to capture your lilting lips.
I watch you as you get healed now,
as I protect you now.
You are now an absent face of simmering smiles of the sky.
it spreads under my own body.
duplex spiral grapevine.
Cherries under your foot,
A lament to recite,
day and night.
count and tell me the times I sank for you,
My voices tore away like a sunburn.
love blooms love with such endearment
A landscape of Oval sunset all in your palms.
this sky lives like poetry in your belly.
Where i come and sleep, to absorb the moisture of cold nights.
I bloom, like a lotus, near a windowsill to worship you,
i see you like vintage telephones in my surreal mind.
Rings of vacant loneliness has eaten me, desiccated me.
so i bury myself in your atmosphere of springs and springs.
Sequences are memories. An atom dissolves.
And I dissolve in you.
i come to places where i can stich a notion to my entire body of chemicals.
Strange things happen here.
A women die each day/ there are ways and methods for it/
a loop of sorrow sinks like an abortion.
And a mist encircles my eyebrow, like a wide corridor collapsing.
i visit places that connects me to a numb mind.
I ask a numb air to swallow my left arm,
for it knows the bends and the geometry.
Often, I collect marbles/ potions/ circumstances that live like a vein inside me.
I fix things.
fixing like a plumber of times.
beneath the archaic tenderness of joy,
a butterfly evolves.
a blue coloured life dripping from my body
my entire smouldered body.
i drip and collect myself all alone.
The dissection of women.
Words and pic- MVS
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.
you have a burning orange taste
like the room lit with forest.
dark and sequin patterns of lust.
i look at you and i dissolve,
a cape of Ganges.
From your cheeks,
i sip dews of dusk.
and i worship you like a dreamcatcher,
praying for your lucid footsteps,
A soft murmur inside a winter room.
cigarette lips and pink nails.
in your shadow of Auburn smoke,
lips wet like a half-baked moon.
let me trace your lavender skin,
a filament of my springs.
A tangent story today.
Nothing is as quiet as it looks here.
Rudiments and claps.
A solar eclipse perhaps blooms on earth.
This is a tale of flowers and dead flowers.
The continuous realms of abandoned walls,
speaking a language to be deciphered.
Your absence is stretching today from this porch,
to the twitched leaves behind.
Anything, anything that explains me about you,
I sniff it. I embrace it like a life.
Sometimes, I fall in love
with bowls of coloured strokes,
a pattern, a lioness, a temple.
for they speak a language that tells me of spiral existence.
Skin is concentric,
skin is pious
so i emboss it with your stagnant breaths, left.
I am not sure of this perforated womb now.
There is a hint of blue woman swivelling.
Everything is strange today,
this light, a silver nocturnal bird sitting.
the captivity of orange torches glowing,
ashes of time,
volumes spoken by earth and the moon,
you are here,
this last time,
I discovered you,
in the cellophane sheet of my ribs,
spontaneously, beneath defeated arms.
you grow here,’in my mouth.
And i preserve you as always.