I sit beneath this concave moonlit and put my ink on my naked body tonight.
I count the loses and the victories I have had, the outnumbered lips of kisses and the bottles of venom. I draw a map to the moon, I draw stars to my breasts.
I crave the branches of this grapevine romancing with the blueberries.
I crave my frosty lips sucking the zeal out of the chilled beer.
This place, this soft breeze benedicts the wisdom. It teaches about multiplication and deduction. A topology of human indeed is dust. The slick fingers often do not regenerate and the countless stars are only to make your skin sullen and eyes full of baked memories. Winters are the unsaid words from your beautiful carbon mouth. Thousands of Aurora skin glitter around your geometrical waist.
I crave the poetry of your eyes. I crave the potion, religion, purity from your skin. I crave words. I crave flowers dancing on a hillside.
I crave horrendous veracity from your writings.
The world shall seem mystical, where the peacocks might sing the 80’s song. Hilarious gloomy nights often teach you the truth of your life. “Nothing is forever”
I crave the smell of daffodils. I crave the sultry nights of desiccated romance from my veins and the continuous burning smell of my cigars.
I crave wisdom, I crave wilderness.
I have travelled the soils of Africa and beyond the sustenance of crisp air,
Like an empty bowl of the eclipse, succumb trees, galvanized moisture,
My eyes speak unspoken words, unruly truth, my naked eye is poisonous often.
Amenable spikes of charcoal reside here, I wander and wander.
To a place, I visited once, I saw liquor and sad eyes, that was my home.
I see here residue of hopes and an unknown particle, effete smells of unknown skin, What is this place, I have come to?
My palpable arms hurt the Meraki created by the previous storms, yet I see hideous smiles. Above the lustrous Earth and below the clandestine sky, I stand like the virgin flower, dead or alive, insouciant caricature.
Tonight, I have smoked my favourite cigarettes
with curtains drifted apart, I sit here with a glass of my taste
And as this lamp burn, I burn like the melting wax
And I begin to bleed, I bleed on my paper with hot wax on my cold skin
Tonight, the moon is drunk too, the stars are churning my pain
they see me collapsing, they see me drowning
My pen sees it too. It scribbles my inner verses like wounds
scorching like the Thar dessert
My fingers still write, my mouth spits vexatious taste
A taste of my forlorn tale.
I burn my pen, I burn my pen
I slit the paper, then fold it again
only to make a paper again,
And with this clandestine night, I have my companion.
So I burn along with this burning lamp.
Inside the rim of a bottle
Or outside the grilled window
You poke and churn the mystical hoax
Digesting into the pool of madness
A reverie. A fiction. A ballistic throttle.
A healing iris. A gargantuan of flowing words. A paroxysm.
Peel the skin, scratch the inside of an apple
Search the word, burn it and inhale in
your surreal peace, preen the mirth
And swallow the liquidity, join your body
With its formation, a constellation of stars
Then, you shall know insatiable hunger.