The white haze

They talk about everything so coarse and grainy- but not my mouth, empty and cold. Lukewarm particles of mother’s voice floating White/ blue/ grey-  I see shades of attachment and delirium. Together, through a visceral bone, Skins aglow- white talcum powder all distorted. My dressing table is a desert. A pause. Concrete and blind sun.…

Through the voices.

She is a small islandA voiceless twig to flutterA crecent of moon dropped from beneath- the body is resourcefulspun into a river.Now I am silent as I watch my windowwith angular toes amd facebirds so small and distant, That is that. That is that.Bones awaiting the hours to fly by,And here people like light rays…

The lovemaking

The hem of my body is paper and my tongue- the silk threads of ice cubes The night spreads its monotonous tone under my moan the voices that erupts my chest often, about your skin: about your name: the existence of the Sun inside your wounds, the mouth opens and a soft touch sits inside…