my fingers, desperately tracing – tear through the fabric of my sheets;
in my dreams people recite such beautiful poems... oh, how I wish I
could have written them all down. i fought myself in a dream battling
my own spirit to awaken, but all I was able to write down was...

                                                         ­  silence!

now, I yearn to return to that ephemeral instant, riding the rails of my
mind – a train of thought; aboard a back train seeking the lost echoes
of my backed-up thoughts.

                                        that last train to find a another poem!

Who is that boy, with those piercing headline eyes – I tell you, he only
looks like bad news. His kiss is like a deep bass, a note shaking your
heart with the lies that plays from his lips. Yet, doesn’t he make you
feel older than you wish to be, as you love to think on nostalgia—
                         all those good moments you long to harness,
would you dare to be honest?

           Still, you defiantly love him more than me, or so it seems….

these tears welling up in my eyes, seem to rise up like yeast –
fluctuating changes accordingly to life circumstances; the circumference
of love appears diminished, hiding deep within the confines of a
bottle. that sanctuary of liquid comfort –
                                           a quiet solace, in a fleeting
sense of bravado that comes with embracing an intoxicating high.

bred amidst the layers of plump cushions of anxiety and worry –
here again, those tears once again threaten to surface like yeast, but
a persistent sense of restraint lingers. a barrier obstructs the natural
flow of my tears –

                                                  a yeast infection!

I… was a dreamer trapped in a haunting nightmare,
a paradox of hope and despair; drying out these tears
with pieces of nothing – don’t fare so well crying in public.


These eyes are the window, to all unspoken fears,
cloaked in silence.


I… am a war between two formidable forces of always
wanting to embrace the world with love, and also the
fear of rejection that longs to keep me so vaguely isolated.

Stuck in this place, to stay and acknowledge,
all the time buried beneath the grains of time...

Yet another dug up watch with these bare hands –
I could have buried so many hatchets, only if I never
hesitated burying the prior ones time and time again.

The burden of life weighed heavily upon me while I was young;
a constant whisper in my ear that I lacked real sweetness, using
tablespoons of sugar to fill my cup. I once held the naive belief that
I would depart this world with a smile, if I ever died too young.
I found myself swearing that my life would plan out better; feeling
as though I would have things figured out – but I tend to swear
mostly under pressure, to a life feeling more like I ****** up.

In a place where the slightest act of indulgence is met with scorn—
where reaching for a bit more water from the *** is seen
as a sacrilege, as if I might taint the very essence of life itself—
yet everyone so is quick to drink out of same big cup. The human
eyes is so oblivious to their own hypocrisy.

My youthful hands, were once so eager to grasp the reins of
responsibility, but trembled with the fear that I could never bear the
weight of what was expected of me, especially to those who nurtured
me with such care, longing to return their kindness with open palms.

Life, it seems, is merely a calculation— a game of figures; whether
you figure it best to navigate it as a devout follower of faith, or as be
a seeker in the chaotic realm where success is only measured by the
right figures.

Ah, what a life it is… go figure!

In my grasp, a pair of glasses rests like a delicate cigarette tucked in
my fingers, their lenses capturing an iridescent clarity that dances in
the tempest of the mundane. Here lies the essence of a frightening
revelation—nothing we possess is truly ours; we are mere custodians
of borrowed treasures, granted at birth by a force that can reclaim it
all in an instant.

Time, is a powerful currency, but to us, is a loan—whether
squandered in idle moments or cherished in fleeting seconds that we
strive to make meaningful. We share breaths with those we hold dear,
our heartbeats intertwining in passionate kisses, exchanging words that weave love and conflict, and sighs that echo in tender submission.
Love, a paradox of durableness and theft, weighs heavily upon us,
testing our resilience with every blow we endure.

Beware the commotion of this world, for it will consume your very
essence, manifesting the wickedness of your heart. I have destroyed
my being countless times, only to rise anew, each rebirth a testament
to the lessons learned in solitude. From this solitary journey emerges
the wisdom to coexist with others in this intricate dance of life.

A few places of my thoughts remain hidden, their
shadows I dare not reveal, for there are moments
I wish to evade.

A prisoner of my own overthinking mind,
I dissect every word you utter by day; to become
a relentless ritual of overthinking that silently haunts
my nights.

Life isn’t about ending it all, it isn't a suicide, still
we do so much to **** our minds — lost in the endless
scroll of our screens, just to **** time - a daily genocide.

Still in the depths of your own being, do you
sometimes feel the weight of your own existence?
I hope you’re not gazing into the mirror, only to find
disappointment staring back—an executioner of your
self-wort; a homicide - that slow and silent ****** of
your confidence.

Your thoughts crash like thunder, a cacophony of pain, swept away
by the tempest waves of your hair; how ironic it is that men gaze
upon women’s ******* as if they were an oasis in a parched desert.
They possess a strength akin to mountains, while the valley of your
tears floods my vision. Within your form lies the purest fulfilment,
resonating through your very bones; how swiftly it transforms into
verses etched with sharp precision.

Our flesh and spirit coexist, yet they remain eternally apart – we
chase satisfaction in the simplest of joys, our spirits yearning for the
heavens, while the flesh craves a taste of heaven through one hell of
a life. With a gentle gaze, your lips ignite a wildfire, taming nothing
but the primal instincts you believe you have tamed.

The thirst for love flutters like a hummingbird, sipping from a nectar
we cannot measure, unaware of how it nourishes us or for how long.
I oscillate between life’s most profound moments – for human
pleasure demands no concentration, only the act of losing oneself
in the moment. Self-control is the very essence of that focus – yet
how swiftly our thoughts become dulled in the enigma of life.

                                            Everything is just an enigma in the end.

My emotions are trapped, reverberating
like a haunting echo bouncing back and forth.
In my youth, I read that wealth is in the mind;
does this imply that only contemplating
about riches can manifest all the fortune I want?

And am I in haze of indulgence – thinking
only about ****, whenever my responses
come out blunt?

The box: a cradle for the delivery
of new life born into this world

or

the space where a man may wander aimlessly,
lost by his lack of self-control.

Somebody’s child is crying – who threw their crush; their infatuations
cast aside like pebbles scattered upon the shore, each one a fragment
of that unrequited love. Yet, was it not a chore; to tidy up your deeds,
and striving for perfection akin to the grains beneath the ocean’s
floor? All the tears I’ve poured into the sea were swallowed by the
ocean’s depths; I wept so fiercely that the world around me, I could
barely see.

Somebody’s child is crying – just as the pivotal words were about to
unfurl; they lay there, crushed by the weight of the receding tide. A
face marred by sorrow, with nowhere to seek refuge – why is it that
the broken are masters of masquerade, donning a façade of joy while
harbouring a heart in despair?

Somebody’s child is crying – a forgotten avian adage whispers in
the wind; you could have soared through the skies of your dreams,
had you not grown cold feet as you had caught a mind flu. You are
a beauty never to surrender to yourself, yet vanity is but a fleeting
pleasure that will inevitably fade with time. Even the famous must
eventually fade into memory; every piece you love of someone, is a
part of your own personality. Perhaps the disdain you feel for another
is merely a mirror, revealing the parts of yourself you wish to deny.

Somebody’s child is crying – and that child is you, but you can’t hear
yourself.

Them: How do you know that you've finally gotten over your ex?

Me: When the drunk version of me laughed at the idea of texting them
late at night!

Beneath your fingertips lies the earth of roses, their essence entwined
with sharp, thorny scratches upon your neck. Moist lips utter a
cascade of words, attempting to dilute the value of any moment; these
words, a subtle taste inspiring saliva that stirs the mouth, to spit a
piece of game, loudly amidst the intricate game of cards that mirrors
the tumultuous game of love.

Tears well in my eyes for those who are suicidal – cutting themselves,
even as life unfolds as a beautiful wound. We grow amidst the pain of
our parents, who pray silently that we are not handed over to their
burdens at birth. It is a legacy, passed down through generations,
where ancestors never dared to shatter the shackles of their
subjugation. This oppression, cloaked in passive aggression, who can
dream for their young, when they’re too busy living so restless? How
can one value God’s favour, when you always rivalling other people’s
blessings?

The notion of death becomes a familiar companion; in a world where
malevolence persists, the thought of extinguishing it all seems a swift
solution. Those pretty eyes, seemingly pure, can swiftly unveil the
truth that being innocent is a fragile façade that can be lost in a sec.
But wouldn’t you want to fall in love with someone who appears
heaven sent – perhaps they hail from the heavens, but their arrival is
more a descent. Even Lucifer must have carried a bit of Heaven’s
scent.

Everyone seems decent every time you greet them; meet them a couple
times and you mind tries to delete them… I’m thinking too much,
the mind is the evil of the heart, when the two don’t always get along.

You are the blossom flourishing within the confines of my heart's
garden – my unwavering anchor amidst the tempest of turmoil;
a guiding light that directs my gaze toward the distant end of this
dark passage.

I am but a letter resting at your final resting place, bearing secrets
that will guide you to paradise – I murmur your name with every
tear that falls for you in the place of my dreams; in the whispers
of the wind, the gentle caress of rain, and even in the desolation
of the moments we are separated.

Beloved, you are my heart's desire.

In this modern age,
every man is just looking for a hole to fill,

I’m just looking to fill
the heart-shaped hole in my chest
to find a love that is honest and so real…

I am a hanging thread, hanging onto life,
in this delicate fabric of existence; concealed in a shirt.
The fibres strain, so be gentle, for a harsh tug may
unravel my very depth.

Sewn together by dreams, woven with the strands
of hope, my soft cotton faith absorbs the anguish
that surrounds me.

I am a hanging thread, hanging on for dear life –
with a singular, poignant message to impart:

Hang in there!

From the ***** where a child is fed – the essence of their identity
woven by what a father has said; I carry the faith of my mother,
often shadowed by my father's scepticism. I find myself gazing into
the reflective gaze of a taxi driver, contemplating the tapestry of my
past—insecurities gnawing at my resolve as clasped hands rest in the
back seat. I catch fleeting glimpses of my youthful, innocent laughter
—frozen in time, a testament to pure love captured in a photograph;
a reminder of the paths we trod in pursuit of our dreams.

My creator had named me a rare and radiant pearl, a pearl growing
in the oyster womb of a mother — His love mirrored in that precious
gem as I navigate a crowded life, where strangers step on your toes.

Upon my shoulders, the weight of the world is not meant to rest—
where attempts to quench my thirst yield only the bitterness of ash.
Yet, the fire of my aspirations flickers brightly in my gaze—do I dare
to pursue love with courage?

Indeed, that spark ignites into a flame, and that flame transforms
into an all-consuming love— His love, an all-consuming love.

                                                        ­I am loved.

Your eyes may speak the cons of consistency – you live a life of make
believe; you might have forgotten how to believe in your dreams –
their steadfastness might have slipped from your grasp. Your burdens
sometimes resound like a tempest, reverberating through the space,
thunderous and relentless, yet always, the sun breaks through; its
radiance brings warmth, and with warmth, love flourishes.

And love remains, unless it softly murmurs: “I’ve finally departed.”
Love knows no age, neither young nor old, but exists in the
timelessness of a breath – for in moments of suffocation, that breath
arrives to clear your chest…

Your anguish could be distilled into a single droplet – a tear, so
numerous that they could overflow a basin – do not allow them to
drown your heart or wash away your soul. Instead, release them to
rise and vanish beneath the sun, into this life that is both exquisite
and untamed.


                       We could be love, if only we learn to love more!

I met the edge of death – her blade slicing through my very
skin; cutting me into pieces; a piece of me died inside, haunting
my dreams like a spectre. My bucket of tears had run dry, in
a futile attempt to fill this glass bottle of forever, though it remains
a daydream.

Pop a cherry, somehow the shattering of innocence – levitating
in a bubble of love, praying to God it doesn't pop. I lived the
omnipotent experience, danced with the spectre of death, a cruel
and merciless partner in this dark waltz.  While the heart sleeps,
my brain still thinks – I lament the vision of a nobler self, confined
to the realm of my dreams.

In my quest for paradise, I only discovered the relentless paradigm
of a life wrestling all time left on its mind. I was once a love warrior;
now merely a worrier of love – the winds of my spirit propel the
arrow of my aspirations, yet I still falter in my aim.

As your brows furrow, rising to confront the shadows of doubt,
I reflect on a life marred by fear, despair, and unfulfilled affection…
yet, we may die inside tonight, just to live tomorrow!

Bear in mind – as I conjured an image of a bear in my mind,
both indulging in a few rounds at the bar; raising the bar to
dizzying heights, till one of us might succumb to intoxication.

A rather fishy scenario, devoid of any fishy breakfast beneath
the bear's breath, reminiscent of a grizzly confrontation.

Yet, we diligently tailed our cocktails at the counter –
chasing after them without any count of remorse.
For we both loathed the winter that awaited us beyond those
bar doors, devising a scheme to drink deeply enough to drift
into slumber and embrace the idea of hibernation.

I guess that’s what you get when a man has cocktails with
a bear at the bar - only to discover that by the end, I was left
with a solitary bear, while my wallet lay stripped of its treasures,
solitary bare.

In the tender years of my youth, at the age of sixteen, my prayers
soared high, burdened by doubts and fears, I yearned to remain
unseen - I recall the torrents of tears that cascaded when I was
merely ten, for it was in those fleeting moments that I unearthed
my strength within.  

I envisioned a future self, brimming with wisdom by twenty-one,  
a life meticulously charted, a race already won; I dreamt vividly of
a wedding by the age of twenty-three - as a spectacle to impress my
brothers, who loomed like giants to me.  

Once, the shadows were a terror from which I would swiftly flee,  
now they serve as a sanctuary where I sometimes crave to be free.  
I once believed friendship was a vast, bustling expanse, yet I find
solace in the few friendships, where I can truly take a chance.  

And my life remains still unfinished, unfinished as this poem…

I was the pencil that etched the silhouette of your love –
a shadow standing as a sentinel as you strode ahead.
I was your pen, inscribing these lines with the ink
of my tears – I tore away the initial pages of the first
love letters I crafted for you.

Love is blind… I don’t see much of you in either
of my thoughts or dreams.

How must I refer to you now, when all the references
on how to love were born from the moments we shared –
all the descriptions I experienced when it was still
me and you?

I only seem to see you now as just a silhouette.

Tearing up in the most peculiar of ways,
I’m merely another chapter, unfolding with each
new page for every dawn—my narrative, born from
an unexpected prologue, leaves me pondering the
conclusion.

It should be an inclusive story,
but it's often so exclusive to the author’s constant habits
of being a reclusive – my eyes could narrate ten thousand
muses; yet the art of writing these days, has become so
elusive.

I was once a pen, transformed into the very letters
that compose each sentence, and crafting a narrative.
And with every sunrise, I pen another page in this
Book of I.

Sending me tender kisses like airbags, softening the blows to my
heart; your service with a smile radiates warmth as I stand in line,
eager to sketch the portrait of our love— chasing after sparks, once
your heart starts to believe you’ve found the one.

Making daylight savings – to awaken with the sun, its golden rays
dance upon your cheek, radiating warmth that yearns to envelop me.
Yet, I ponder— will a touch more of this brilliance consume me, or
shall I remain alert– do I stay woke,

or…

spend most of the day in a daydream, cherishing this infatuation,
cradling it close to my heart, preserving our moments for a future
where courage blooms within me, allowing me to finally ask you to
be my wife.

“Perhaps yes, or maybe not” – I’ve pluck the petals of my choices,
now lingering on the tenth flower.

                                             I think I'm in love with you Daisy.

_

No longer do I feel the urge to weep – as I lift my gaze to behold an
endless ocean; I navigate a life woven with threads of self-doubt.
Plucking at my mind, a bloom with countless petals – eager for
growth, yet the nourishment of my spirit, is drawn from the parched
earth of this world.

These days unfold like a mirage, trapped within a grotesque nightmare, spiritually and morally barren at times – when I lose the art of dreaming.

I place my hopes where echoes linger – casting my heart into a fervour,
wishing it ricochets off the walls. Drifting through life with a hollow checklist – an existence devoid of meaning, yet I persist, sustained by
a God who still believes in me, and in the essence of my soul.

Enthralling – the vanished fragrances; my olfactory senses
are akin to a daisy, each petal plucked accompanied by
a murmur of “if she loves me, loves me not”

Her scent – sends sparks of shivers through me;
a fragrance bold enough to fill the space, gentle
not to drop it all.

My dear, is that very scent that ensnared my heart.

Closed eyes,
embracing you in the shadows,

The clock's chime igniting a flame
within me – resolutions!

No resolve in that fleeting moment
kissing into the new year; our midnight
kiss.

Oh, please tell me why I still care for the side of you that always
lets me down – my mind becomes your fence, picking at all of my
thoughts – each one a slat in a picket fence to surround your own
insecurities.

Tell me what lights are coming on, to keeping on pretending that
love still turns you on; have you truly spent the nights restlessly
trying to fall asleep in a **** pose, draped in nothing but a pyjama
thong?

You shed your clothes more readily than your skins, that could
unveil the core of your true self –  “this time, I am changing,” you
proclaim, yet what truly changes if you harbour such shame for
the loose parts of yourself, tell me what’s the point of looking for
change, if you don't want to fully change?

Beautiful ugly reflection –
slipping into the depths of your heartbreak;
Do you still tally your breaths – gasping for air!
At times, we drift so far from the warmth of home,
a cosmic wonder; yet the cosmos cradles the remnants
of extinguished stars.

Would you light a cigarette – to mask the fierce truths
of your spirit; those weary hands still possess a gentle
caress.

A handshake fraught with shaky bonds – bond to your
insecurities; anchoring you in a realm of perpetual self-doubt.

                   You are worth infinitely more, my mirrored self.

Wayfare angel,
Yonder the North Star shining beyond
A divine herald sent from the heavens above.

Oh, this night, a wondrous night unfolds,
A child is born from a pure and holy womb,
In a humble manger, the Saviour lies,
To all ye shepherds and wise men gathered here,
Follow this radiant star, and behold the light of the world.

Arise, ye who dwell in the realm of the living,
Come forth to witness this miraculous dawn,
For a child is born, the Christ,
The Lord of lords; oh, sweet infant,
Your birth and sacrifice hold profound meaning for our world.
Let us worship Him who has come to save us—
Christ, the Lord of lords.

Her: All men are nothing but dogs!

Him: Yes, indeed… but have you ever pondered the breed of each man? Some are fiercely loyal, others stand as protectors, a few are brash and aggressive, while some are merely oversized infants. You get the stubborn ones, the overly playful bunch, or grumpy ones. And then, there are those wretched few who tarnish our reputation, who just love to **** all over on your pristine carpet.

All men are indeed dogs, just depends on the one you got.

_

I’ve slipped into a realm of love, ensnared by
yet another crush— no wet floor signs in sight!
Overthinking, deep thinking; I am adrift in an
ocean of thoughts— no life jackets in sight!
I’ve been a jug of emotions, constantly pouring
out my heart— yet these days, I offer only a cup.

These eyes, are crafted from paper, with all these
drawn-out plans— crinkled, and crushed!
Cast aside like a forsaken heart, unguarded by the
walls I used to bring up— please, don’t bring up my
reluctance to divulge too much— not much to say!

Just pinch me to the starkness of reality; I have
been tickled by the allure of dreams too much.

_

Do our lips & fingertips ignite
the searing heat of our kisses—
like glowing embers of a dying fire?

Your tender whispers linger,
a constant flame that consumes me.
Every passing moment, the chasm between us widens…

The fire of longing blazes within me in your absence,
it blazes even more fiercely when you are near.

Ignite within me the feeling of love –
a bulb warming up in its own radiance; I need that idea
behind me falling in love – peace of mind, yet we still
kiss behind the chaos of what we always had –
                                                a long time crush.

Don’t you dare crush my heart – swear to me, cross your
heart and hope not to die, or would you choose to double
cross me, transforming that sacred mark into a bitter X…

I suppose for me, this would be the third strike.

                                   ***

squeezed into existence by the head – coughing out
my first words, with lungs choked with dust;
a body rhyming; to the rhythm of heartbeats against
a mother’s *****— eyes nourished by the vibrant
hues of this bewildering new realm.

in those nascent moments, my existence began shrouded
in shadows—the tunnel’s end merely a flicker; the stars ached
the skies cried their rain; on that eve, the wind exhaled the
essence of creation into my very skin.

so my skin ignited like a volcano, each limb ablaze with
fervour, the heat layering upon itself—yet still, the tantalizing
urge to step out caressed my feet.

Every sensation was a revelation; each experience felt like
a debut, devouring time as if it were the first taste of life—
longing for love swirling above me, a fire igniting my desire
for a pen, spiralling into infinity, as if it were all happening
for the very first time.

                              ...birth of a poet.

Oh, how it haunts me to realize I am not the
finest swimmer –
a lovesick fool adrift in the
ocean of your
blue eyes,
Boundless and profound like
the depths of the sea
itself.

                      I am sinking beneath the waves
of your love’s
                    cerulean embrace!

My girlfriend turned to me, her eyes searching for clarity.
“When we first crossed paths, we were nothing but good friends.
Do we still share that bond, that genuine care for one another as true
friends do?”

With conviction, I replied,
             “Absolutely, yes.”

She paused, her expression shifting as she continued,
“Then perhaps it’s best we remain just friends. Even without the
romance, I could never bear to lose the precious connection we
forged at the beginning.

                                                                AS FRIENDS.”

Find for me a decent love that stirs a distant heart,
If I dare to love you, can I still remain the man I am—
the man you truly want?

Stitch me together with the stars; I shall fall deeper
in love, ready to fulfil every wish you want.
Adrift on the ocean, we’ll let time drown, washing
away the moments we’d share in this love.

Record my emotions like a demo tape,
tracking the melodies of my heart—
my mind, is a mere spark igniting the edge of a match,
checking the box to reveal the flame that yearns for
the love I too want.

            Want, want, want love... That is all I need, to want.

In the quiet corners of my
mind, I get lost
in my words –
as are my thoughts swirling
like leaves in the wind.
My notebook and pen become my
abditory:
a secret refuge where I
can disappear.

__

And it is here, in this
cherished hideaway, that I
lose
myself completely,
enveloped in the embrace
of
ink and paper,
crafting a reality
all my own.

We appear to love as captives, shackled by the relentless whispers
of our hearts. The places we seek solace may very well be our final
resting spots; our beds could transform into our tombs. We exist
only as long as He allows, wrapped in blessings and gifts, while
you continue to frolic in this world, surrendering yourself to
become its plaything.

And still, you laugh—gasping for air, straying down a treacherous
path, while within, you weep silently; suffocating as you struggle
for breath… a twisted obsession of despaired wet dreams.

Tell me, in our yearning for mercy, why does it elude us –
for the mercy we long for, why doesn’t our own exist?

To worship life, sadly means  learning how to laugh at your
worth. You present yourself as a lump of sugar, yet your
thoughts are like a lump of coal, consuming you as you stare
into the glow of your phone…

                                        Ah, I pen these lines for my own reflection.

The azure of my skin – a shade reminiscent of the vast ocean,
melancholic as a distant horizon that forever eludes fulfilment;
it never seems complete. How can I compete with this solitude –
lying in a bed stripped of its warm embrace… Blue adorned my
pillowcase, where I dreamt of the crime of love; she stole my heart
in a blue-collar crime.

And blue was the only remnant she left behind, a sorrowful hue
that echoed my longing for a love that was never truly mine.

Is falling in love like dreaming – for I have tasted a mere pinch of
love, and I implore you, do not pinch me, and wake me up. My heart
dances like a brush upon the canvas of my flushed cheeks; I yearn not
to rush into this enchanting feeling, yet I find myself swept away in
this exhilarating feeling’s rush.

Like a lush forest adorned with vibrant canopies, I sense a love that is
both elusive and captivating—so wild is the sensation you evoke, as I
strive to quench my eyes thirst, for one more glimpse of you.

My emotions are splattered across the canvas, each stroke a testament
to the artist's longing; your aim must have been true, for this feels
nothing short of a masterpiece. I draw nearer to you, like that very
pencil, etching thoughts in my mind, desperate to articulate the
depths of my affections.

Tell me, is falling in love like dreaming – for I have tasted a mere
pinch of love, and I implore you, do not pinch me, and wake me up.
I quite enjoy being in love.

I can't help the way I feel when I’m searching for love in your
eyes –I am powerless against the tide of emotions that swell
within me, staring at the warmth of love reflected in your gaze.

Speak to me, dear heart- do you not feel the same electric pulse
that ignites when our spirits intertwine? I am at a loss for words to
convey the tempest of anguish that rages within; will you kindle
the flames of our connection, transforming mere embers into a
blazing fire?

For when you whisper, "I love you," it seems to exist only in the
realm of my dreams. Am I too desperate, too lost in my own
fantasies? Would you truly love me? Is this mere infatuation, or
could it blossom into something profound?

                      Oh, how I hate these relentless inquiries about love.

Eyes of a deep, earthy brown meet my gaze – a clash of syllables;
she embodies the essence of the soil.  Her foundation is unwavering,
and she is no one to indulge in the comforts of tepid waters;
she’s meant to ignite.

She leaves me in suspense, yearning – my nerves tremble in the
dawn’s embrace, her presence a jolt to fuel my spirit.

An ode to the morning brew.

Amidst the echoes of a victorious romance, would you seek me?
In its subtle notes, I harbour every grievance, silently measuring
you against the passions of pasts, the ardour I once knew with
those I loved. The heat of your lips ignites a longing within me,
a rich Cyprus wine that awakens my very soul.

My skin bears the marks of disdain — a fallen star I proclaim,
for those who yearned for genuine love, yet bared their desires
to the world. The sincere man allowed each kiss to belong to its
rightful muse, while a desirous gaze conjures love born solely
from jealousy.

The eyes, those envious masterpieces of humanity, without
a doubt.

To meet my end by the hour of nine,
yet I’ll live until the clock strikes eight.
I will leave by seven, ensuring I am not late.

So unleash your pent-up hate on inadequate objects –
for in doing so, you shall become the object of hate.

_

In a fleeting moment
when one holds onto a rock,
they feel so invincible...

Yet, if one holds fiercely to their pride,
surely their emotional intelligence
is all but invisible?

                               Invisibly invincible.

3:33 – My clock unwinds in reverse, clinging to the
Vibrant hours of youth; a formidable mistress,
Wielding the greatest dominion upon the day’s wake

So…

Reset your clock to the echoes of yesteryears –
Rest in a past that offers no respite; a maze you’ll never escape
Amaze in the cast of fleeting glances at your own existence,
Entangled in the intricate web of your own perfect maze,
While those above, are retracing our steps upon the parchment
Of this bewildering journey, on the maze’s page.

My heart is ensnared by the way the light dances
in your eyes, a mesmerizing spectacle that nourishes
my very soul, you're my radiant source of vitamin D
As I lent you my tank top, my thoughts were tangled
in a web of our silence, as we shared a kiss that lingered
long, leaving both social tanks on E.

Your lips remain sealed, yet they whisper of fervent
dreams, each smile a fleeting glimpse into your passion
The career you envision unfolds like a cinematic masterpiece,
with you at the helm, boldly declaring, “Action!”

As my admiration for your curves surely deepens,
your unwavering positivity are all these straight lines;
unyielding, resolute, and always moving forward
Your essence is akin to a pen, sharp and purposeful,
having a point to make, making it so easy for me to
spell it out to you;  U R truly Gorgeous.