He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.

"Do you understand the sorrow of a star that cannot return to the heavens?"

"Of course."

"What?"*

"It's like you said,
there's no remedy for memory."

•□•  Can't shake this mist  •□•
Draggin' paged swords down my stomach,
Split my opal skin
wide open
▪ccrack▪
find a sunset gushing out
¤twist¤
can't swap the dead sea
and the larkstone coffin
in my cherry-blossom throat
°scatter°
All these razor droplets
'◇quiver,◇'
bronze scraping at my jawline
/|*groan/|\
And look yonder---
a lonely crow
whispered louder than thunder
'''scratch'''
•□•  Can't shake this mist  •□•
....
Come back to haunt me,
but my poetry already has me
six feet under.
¥ Demons ¥
€ squirm €
in
the
₩ Soil. ₩
"We aren't any different now, are we?"
.

●Sunken to my basalisk heart●
○the drums of nebula bursting○
•Saturn sliding down my shoulder•
°-Lupus circling the lunar fire-°
◇A flask of ivory,◇
¤in the diamond flesh.¤
•This mirror glinting•,
○Steel jaws meet my neck.○
~Casting amethyst over
my hair.~
| Reflections scratching at the mist. |
______
"You look lovely covered in
words."
A luminous face, pale and lean.
Spirited as foxes, a shadowman in
gunpowder chain.
Ghost.
"I think you mean sleeves of
poetry."
.

Your eyes shift like
clockwork  forcing
December        into
it's    rightful rank.
Frostbite  bursting
from     jaws       of
Sagittarius,    iron
staining         your
crow    -feathered
muzzle.                I
plucked       Sirius
off the face of  the
sinking sky while
weaving           his
starlit   fangs into
steal wolf    teeth
for replacements.
You    swallowed
an oath of loyalty
for        alunakira
so     I   will build
and    reach   into
that        heart of
vintage      glass,
drag the  dog of
war   from    the
sunset  stomach
you           own~
and do as Lupus
told        me  too.
I  will construct
symphonies  of
tiger            -lily
dusks & dawns
to     raise    the
dead  poetry in
  basilisk    heart.
Lycan,          I'll
   withdraw    the
   ashes              of
  Avalaone    just
   to   get          the
  Gears working
  again   in   your
a   u   b  u   r   n
e       y     e       s