daring moods
with intertwined laughter
and tangled legs in the midst of the night
where flickering shadows
expose fragments of images:
oil stained crystal-coloured eyes,
dark tousled hair that tickles cheeks
and wandering hands too.
daring moods
with arching backs,
quiet neck kisses
and hushed comments.
daring mood
when four words
escape rosy lips-
I quite love you.
daring mood
in which there is

no response back.

A full beaming moon
with it’s crates and it’s mounds
the orbiting sphere that was was once believed to be the root cause of craziness.
Yet here it was,
illuminating the room
where a hushed video call had begun.
Two giddy teens
blissfully chatting,
joking,
Yawning.
Her eyes had begun to droop in accordance to the darkening sky,
while his kept themselves busy on her.
His fixated eyes held an unreadable
passion of tenderness
as he longingly gazed upon her
reddening skin.
If only the moon had shone ever so brighter,
it would’ve uncovered that her feelings had mirrored his
as her stomach erupted into minuscule butterflies.

through the eerie
nature of night,
a bright light
is my comfort.
a beacon of
flesh

If I were to dissipate
would everything
correct itself
or
would the minuscule
snow globe,
I have engulfed myself into,
collapse under the sudden removal
of an insignificant
figurine.

as if it were paper,
you ripped my
heart

jagged lines
as though a child created
then in crayon.
bold, beaming
thunder strikes.
their fingertips trace
dips and peaks,
until they engulf
pale skin.
until the pink
matches her cheeks.
until they match those of the
tigers,
zebras,
okapis.

Sunny days will never cease to
exist.
It's only when you close your
eyes,
that suddenly the light goes
out.

dams crack and leak
from your hammer.
your nails are no match
to the painful rebuild
with hardening cement.

the Shadows,
enslaved eternally,
jeer dull stigmas
and
roar glorified lies
through which
diminishing their angst
comes to no avail;
the Shadows
bathe in salty
puddles against sheets

pulsing flames churn
streams of ignited honey,
as grey fumes-
of burnt aromas -
beckon nicotine clouds
and lukewarm breaths
to embark in
a dilatory tango;
hardly coordinating with
the strummed instrumental
that lulls the
snow to
sleep.

Don’t juggle hearts-
you’ll be splattered in
blood.

fantastical reveries;
swirling aromas of
vintage armani
meshing against
coarse cotton in
restless obscurities
before dawn.
through the
insomniatic twilight
luminous apparitions
of nuzzling noses
in tepid crevasses
manipulate into
an envelope of
utopian delusions.