a little love

i do not say i want your metaphors all the time. I need your bowl of reflections, white and pure. Thick fog running through my backbones, i am tired of feeling this red colour inside my body. Dilute it, maybe?Splash a mute word, spreading like a fungus, onto my body. You see, i don’t want wildflowers, today. I am insane, and i want your insane, dark, rough love. I have nothing else to hide beneath.i can slice unhappy moon, anthills stretching this cold evening.

can you rustle, beneath the cold sheets of chills? And enunciate the dimensions of love, rainbows for me in an oblivious way? Sequins of art-work. I know your ways are more like a cobweb. A fire extinguisher, is all i wish. something that cures the sore tickle of my back, my bosom and mouth.

i don’t want  berry nights from you, i want your white shirt, to cling. I have been doing that and i shall do it. I want it to hold on like a brush on a canvas, sliding a blurb of emotion. Like a bulge on my skin towards more of left. Crimson skies full of earth.

I want that little love, that little home.



P.S -for a change I have written a romantic piece, after a hiatus now. (to my love)

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This winter

i have lived a thousands lives,
yet this winter is like a moth.
it has eaten me up,
from my toenail to my collarbone.
now i am naked. skin in pieces.
this winter, shallow waters of broken promise.
this winter, a conch doused in anaemic water.
i am no human today.
i weep like my ceilings.
wrapped up in my own silent time.

Who would pick me up?
like moon conjuctured upon my laps,
drawing seismic patterns.
its all about this winters.
__________

P.s I may be taking an off from here. You all still can find me on Instagram by the same name.

How I hurt

you would burn in waters,
if you could feel my skin now.
smudged dose of love, insipid flaky fingers
this arm hurts now from resurrecting my soul,
streams of rivers lynching my soft neck.

i long for love and loneliness altogether
cleaved moon dripping honey on pale skin.
you kept me breaking, like twings and forests.
sliced ounce of crooked lemon zest, burning.
it kept me hurting yet alive, you see.

i could feel the faulty facets
leaking sideways of my languid arms.
topsy turvy my tongue, this moment.

i am moth, sucking glaze from marigold,
camouflaging dust & bitter taste of you, perhaps.
this is me, this is survival now.
swallowing all that I see.


discordance


a starlight stuck to my mind,

 to my elongated staircase neck,
atom meeting atom.

a whirlpool of petals and memories,
clasped between my chin,
a thin map stitched there.

the map of insanity,
cities squirming.

a doused eye of temperature unstable,
this eye,
a tenuous, watery limpid eye.

it sees autumn, winters and spring
like nothing mattered at all.


			

a thousand reasons

between the lampshade of lips and my porcelain lips
 i carry your honeycombed shadow
 like a lust covered body, screaming in rose love
 i have a reason to lick your face,
 your breaths in ways flickering

Beneath the mole of my chin, a night rests
 it slithers a square black fit
 like an earthquake, an earthquake
 Metaphors of sun and moon lies
 in my womb,
 my place of sanity
 inside me choking with your love

a surreal slip of owls & hunters
 clambering unearthed lilies
 You are blue.
 You are grey.
 You are colourless.
 Mine.
 i have a reason or two to bite
 your pages, the books of love
 Phantom protrusion of amnesia.
 Pills of intoxication
 Bay of Bengal splashing my bosom
 drop by drop, with chills neurotic
 A wasp breaths and moans
 slitting a thread.
 I have my reasons, darling
 to love you.

Ambrosia twirls like a cocktail
 thick mouth swarming of dreams,
 filling the cracks,
 the walls, the ceilings, the mouth
 the feverish body.
 I have a thousand reasons darling
 to love you now.

to defy time

i sit outside in the incensed moon,
galloping my swallow droplets of fear,
a knuckle breaking knuckle,
what’s the fear of this cricket chirping?
the modals of life.
these hands are burrows of islands,
small and large, a heightened hue of black spot.

I sit and inhale the ambiguity here,
the cracks on the white wall,
plants dying, plants blooming.
Regeneration is about loss: life a flat truth.
These fears came streaming like disguised prayers,
cinnamon hands become prayers often.

I sit and break my fingers,
defying cellophane face of morbid love
over and over and over.
i sniff the air and hunt.
I hunt like sunflower, killing the weeds of infestation.
murdering the portrait scenic chins of nothingness.
i defy times at times.

Words

Words. They break me like lightning inside.
Slick balls of painted nights,
cold, bleak and wounding.
The body becomes a range of chemicals.
Seizures and paranoia, talking to me.
Winter often comes in a runny ink blob,
pitcher of milk, black forest.
And i sit like bumblebee, mending, sitting, buzzing
in my skins of lie and corrosion.
A facet of darkness leaks within, like a mirage or a sin.
A whirlpool of crooked fingers, haunted and baleful.


i embraced this pain

untouched by the morning kiss,
a throbbing churning exists in the epicentre of tongue,
a lust, a toothache
starting from my red lips, a reflection of sunset charms
this pain is my baby now, spring’s soft song,
a hush raindrop patting my cheeks.

my two red feet,
conducting a juice of ache,
my pain of body, the missing inch of a finger.
a decoration of walls now,
i embrace the moments of white-faced love now,
my body of thorns,
a galaxy of orange breaths.
i become sunsets dripping blood moon.


 

Sounds of you

This evening is a slender fireplace
burning my wet loss of losing you
a loss is a numb attack until felt
and so i see hums, bells sliding between
out cheese skins,
mellow at the bottom, i am a dream of a lavender,
matchsticks burning curtains of you,
slowly
slowly
you meltdown from the Alps, and my garden
towards a barefoot blue whisper.
A crescent moon born beneath the sway of pulp thighs
Grapevines, nocturnal in hushed nights
observing our warm apple breaths,
floral segments onto our clothes-
my white skirt and your black pants

I burn in such fields of coherence,
cleaving affection as my second, language-
Oh man, your arms of white clay
waning thunders of a white moon
so soft and musical,
unveiling a lantern of fireflies.

And then I make a sketchbook of you
amidst the pale pink flowers,
your name embossed like a manor of bees.
There under the branches of hardened leaves
between the sordid naphthalene balls of kiss
I found you, like a fallen star.


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