My fingers are our lips,
deluged & soaked
in our memory of sunset walls,
with an eye of the heart,
scavenging our skin,
altogether, in patterns,
i want to be your mouth
with soft pearls of moth,
i want all of your body.
The night knitted our bodies like lanterns lit
with navy-blue aromas,
with currents storming
with sands under my body of hope,
with utopia and songs messed up in my head.
You wrapped my raisin skin,
performed colourful themes
like an Orion singing,
The night stimulated
dripping from my tongue
With sunflowers melting
on our wax bodies
And the texture changing,
I grew a day older that day,
to see your landscapes and pyramids
sulking on my lips
sulking in my eyes,
You bit my neck that night
and you saw your name imbued
in frames and pieces
like a soft cloth residing
under my moonlit blood
You knew that day, we shared something more
beyond the stars.
Like Spring approaching.
In the melancholic time,
when the dark howl craws
In the harrowing soils mask,
where the river flow is backwards
I bask in the sunshine,
towards the bridge of memories.
my skin knits
I am sun-kissed today,
like a morsel of apple-pie
sulking on my white bare skin
I am a memory today.
where the sweet honey clings my tongue
pouring my holiness into your laps
I am a pattern to be formed, embellished
I am aliferous today, this moment.
Unscathed beams of sunshine ripple along your pious cheeks,
There lie a canopy of precious words,
decorating your soul with white beauty,
where rivers of unruffled jasmine travel.
The scent is you, like a home of lavender candles
burning your mind, your beautiful mind.
Fabrication of art and beauty lies in your smile
Titanic view of sunrays, a holy reflection of poetry.
Seduction of smells entices your body like an opening of a lotus.
You evolve like the skin of the moon.
So, I become your hidden reflection.
During the nights of summer, I found a bowl of romance, lust in your sinking eyes. So much I read from it. I collected all my wisdom to read your bizarre words. I disclosed a few readings, read your dying cold murmurings like the lost dandelions in a silent winter night. You are a gargantuan lyric of unsaid phrase. So much to draw from you, so much to read from you. You are the Art of survival.
In the occurrence of solitude, first, this sunshine broke, telling your unfathomable lost emotions. I heard you still survived with a potion and lotion of memories. The concoction of sweet lips and the nectar is always as chilling as the moist air.
We regenerate from each another, sucking sagacious chants, drawing a pool of concave oblivion laughter. Oh, the touches of laughter you had with the dawn and rains in your lap. I knew you were healing steadily, like the owl lost in its precarious world.
You are as liquid as wax, undefined and countless ways of colours you produce each day. Beatific laurels of splashes of lanterns reside in your auburn smiles. I know, you are a masterpiece.
Like a distinctive shine, my heart palpitates for your convex smile,
the dewy lips romancing with a shooting star,
the prodigious forest inside my body receives a gust of fragrance,
your beatific touch that glitters my waistline, oh, my man!
Between lips and parched lips, resides a mystical cacophony
yarning a crown of butterflies to decorate my atlas of body
to receive the markings that spread through my milky breast
where the darkness vanishes in the monotony of time,
I smell my bed sheet, the spots you rocked me,
clinging on the jasmine night,
that gave an ephemeral shake, a tremor to our naked souls.
A thunder I produced, inside my poppy finger-nails
where I captured your aroma,
as a pearl of delight: my necklace
I want your immortal touch inside the folds of my skin,
sucking my tongue
residing in the interiors of my temple shaped body,
I have known moist cities and pale humans
putting a slumber to my desire,
And snickering to my crooked jawline
where the goddess even hides in cold evenings.
I have seen sanity, insanity.
I have been tattooed with thorns of roses
wrapped around my neck, suffocating, killing, devastating.
And here I survive in your crisp prism blurry image
turning around the previous thorns as a cultivated seed.