the poppies won't die tonight
I sense the drama through the bleeding faces again
the parched vase of you and me
the horizon of us-
a hallowing question to that equation
the fields seem opaque,
dreary, with white sunflowers
I run and burn
to sniff your presence
to sniff the existence
the love equation to the sky
and to things beyond
my feet seem to be the carrier of our love poems,
enthralled and quiet
almost like a woman lost in translation
Chips in frost.
as if a tree unfolded a leaf so huge
the love rises
it breaks and fills the spaces
with things so small
almost like a hurricane,
there is no place left to make love-
not between such damp sheets, at least.
with our bodies colliding this night sings a song of petunia, a soft spring blooming behind our feet. A velvet yawn of a quiet afternoon.
The night is a tiny flower thumping against the sun-kissed breaths a hum of summer, a hum of winter.
The mouth dipped in the greasy elbows, a pathway to the flowering petals. Silver droplets of water, the body shrinks like a caterpillar now, sparkles of the rain, Too many screams now, too many abstract bodily postures.
This night delivers a tangled knot of whispers of leaves, like salt, the whispers rubbing our elbows, quietly. Hushed. A season of moist talks.
And just like that
between the chorus of the bruised sky,
I slip my set of auburn love.
Sediments of galaxies and rivers
entwined between my outgrown fingers.
Seduction is a way of swimming across your mind, half awake.
These tall trees
perform tensions, fiction,
and a layer of loneliness shifts to the sea of the blank river,
I slide my head against your chest,
the ivory garland of future seasons,
the whistling of galaxies
Bluebells swinging in the thunder of our sheets.
My body shuddering like a torn cloth
arms howling in the wild air.
We lick each other,
a chant for dripping lust
and here I become full and warm.
It is past April
empty corridors of dreams
and I swell upon the memory of
Let's roll our tobacco tongues together,
a song so pure, the poetry of cosmos.
I have a word stuck on my eyelid
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.
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.
My Phospherent body of raisin skin
moans and swells like a process of Spirituality
with fingers clinging your mouth,
your scars, your lips, your teeth
and your heart of surrealistic reverie.
I become a thunderbolt,
in the opulent windows of dreams and smiles
wearing your white shirt, I swing.
I swing like an autumn leaf,
cascading down your throat,
that black spot on your chest
You thump and palpitate my arms.
Spring is born between our naked lips.
The temperature of cold walls crack
in the slices of Orion blue.
A stardust drinks the entire Constellation
Life trembles and illusions occur.
I breathe you somewhere between
the spaces of my index finger and my thumb now.
I wear your sins on my mercury tongue
levitating branches and seeds of satisfaction, darling.
I can fill your china cups with vintage memory of us. Where, i see you sipping my lips through the window sill, like a drunk sky & the tipsy moon. In the hitched- run of mundane lives, i drink your cheeks and mole, your legs & fingers like a mulberry pancake, frost often frozen. I like it that way.
i chew your scars with razor- electric nights of thor and acids. I do it anyway.
With a heart of a sun, i flip into your arms, cascading moments of dreams & dreams. Our bodies going wild fire, scratching depths to know the inner depths. The complete forest is lit.We run like mad currents, diffusing slivers of unborn kisses and future rain. We make love like the Himalayas, dwindling with the Pines or something more surreal. Something soft & crisp,the winds, the freedom . All knitted in my precious womb, my
place of togetherness. My thighs dance, magnets sucking my skin to cling me more. It speaks to me about your vintage cups, stain and cigars.
oh, i must be drunk now to sniff your vintage white shirt.
I could smell your wine,
your amniotic sheets
of pure stars and silicon lullaby,
regenerating my outgrown toes and stale stairs.
this head wrap is a lie,
if your nights do not talk to mine.
You become my pool of waters and waters
that kills my dead skin, on repeats.
You wander, like a dream
soft and tiny
in my 4 A.M talks, the moment of collision
I see your swapping legs and arms
kisses and poetry
tears and scars,
A mulberry sheet of dreams.
I could smell you once again
in the words of pillow marks,
in the arch of my windowsill.
Knitting and defying this entire life,
you do it in a pattern.
You do it always.
Fill the cacophonous rhythm of my mirrored-eye
with the cosmos and nightlight
entwined with grapevine of smiles,
A complexion of you, a shadow.
The craters enjoy the stratospheric
reds, greens, million of boomings.
I worship, with visual feathers,
burgeon smells, intoxication.
The deep smell of my pores
pronounce your name,
multiplying in the furtive eminence.
Then, the thunders dance
smearing lipstick of love,
coughing the dirt of abstruse corners
conquering the walls of illusion.
Darling, my lips measure your spaces and wounds
with the thumb, I knit seismic waves on your back
Paradises stitching, lands coinciding inside
Like a wildflower, I bloom here.
Soils: A bark of memories, red and black.
I travel beneath the surfaces and measure
the cleaving knots, dome-shaped illusions.
Light strikes the stardust and I am a Mirror again
Foretelling your miseries
Holding the icicles of stories on my palms,
I have a newborn skin tonight,
with things to clean
with love as sweet medicine
with White curtains
Sun-kissed air, I am a falling bridge
Having a heart as your canvas.
Flickering. Motionless. oh, Darling.
Let me sew your linings of solace
onto my blank, numb fingers
like the gasp of a saviour dreaming
Orange, Red Vibrancy
And I pour you into my wine glass
magenta and red my blood splashes
My mascara, discerning and colliding
and I dance and dance
I think of rainbows and you
where my world floats
like the catharsis of words And I am Divine and Pious
With Intersperse threads of lust
I fill the hollows of my palm and ankle
I sink into your fulgent walls of ambrosia
The softness I eat and gulp.
This is how I worship you.
“Perhaps when you will leave, you will take something of mine: chestnuts, roses or a surety of roots or boats that I wanted with you, comrade”— Pablo Neruda
I doubt the incubation of turgescent moment
where my hands might be swollen
and your tongue all opaque,
I do not wish a lush firmament
or kisses of holy verses,
For I crave is the skin and pores
and countless breaths you take
like torrential piquant roses and wine
You rotate into my feverish mollusc body
Like an Equinox, you conquer my susceptible shadow
Walnuts cracking piece by piece,
the susurration sound to be heard
mapping your virile chest and hands
Too many secrets of love to be unveiled tonight
like letters, vintage photographs, Pure breaths.
I crack bit by bit into your wonderous mouth
Detonating into million and million pieces of delicate memory,
And each time, you hear me.
Latitude of your strawberry eye in congruence with my winter skin
where a pool of weeds evaporate sinking into the outlandish touch,
A loop of anomalous cogent thread arise in the windowpane of your heart,
I see the Earth, the moon and my teeth cracking your Universe,
For I reside in your skins of skins.
Quixotic eyes that spill the poetic halcyon of star-dust,
like the friction of two naked bodies romancing on the naked moon,
I see you evolving, a robust wild bittersweet flower,
I see your palpable heart, and my lips breathing Skins of Skins.