Sweetest flower of April's touch
veiled upon your *****
permit yourself to blossom
and to these hands clutch.

Futile humility you carry
now that the ring adorns your leaves
our hearts feel genuine and merry
and love, only love they now receive.

Blackened heart that longed too long
charred to coal in smoking flesh
make ammends within this song
and cease the mind of this unrest.

To these weights do not cling more
the rusting chains that held you back
the sinking bonds beneath your pores
that made your feeling sadly lack.

Pink and blue
was the night's hue
that you looked at me
and I fell for you.

Brilliant stars
surrounding Mars
light us up
in this home of ours.

Temperate air
emits your care
and the lovely strings
that form your hair.

Lovely hand
that mine demands
no more time
can I withstand.

Placid comfort your hand gives to mine;
a frigid world we have to call home
and while this link can hasten up time,
my heart calls out, "don't keep me alone"

It was a dream;
that you sat on my lap
in the manner you were born;
in my arms I would trap
your delicate body
that's attached to mine;
your eyes on me
in all this time;
our kisses sweet,
your skin was warm,
your smile was perfect,
your beautiful form;
my chest was burning
and there was your hand
finally together:
the wood and the sand.

To the sound of frying eggs and ding goes the toast
I will think of you the most

because the only thing I wish
is to share with you this dish

but you are far away
and so my heart will stay

craving for a morning with you.

Your voice,
hearsay of the breeze
when it caresses
the petals in our garden;
zephyr in my ears
as my hands reach your depths,
equanimity broken
like the branches under our feet
when we entered
this forest
called desire.

My heart rest at ease
with the thought of her;
the keeper of my love,
solace of my soul
her absence, an arrow,
but her written words,
a force that is real,
more real than presence
itself.

When her light flickers,
my heart jumps with desire,
and when our eyes meet,
overflowed my soul pours
into a river across my cheeks
for her beauty urges touch,
and of touch
I am deprived and sentenced
to despair.

When she saw you,
the moon turned to shine
through you
instead of the sun;
misfortune to those
who live where the moon
can't see you,
where the moon
is forced to be
content with the sun.

Oh, how our petals fall
from the depths of our eyes;
the reminiscence of our small
and warmly stricken sky.

Oh, how it crumbles mutely
striking hard upon the earth;
the ground now bleeds acutely
and still, we drown in mirth.

Please forgive me,

For being absent for so long
Then coming back with no excuse
Because this time I'm wrong
This time I lose.

For seducing you for my pleasure
While my head was on the ground
I've deprived you from your leisure
To the earth you were bound.

For playing god with your pages
When this is no one's book
And it will be for the ages
Dear poetry, my nook.

We held each other, unbounded warmth,
our lips, only an atom away,
crystalized joy in our hearts was formed
and soon our lungs for our breaths made way.

You go up
and you come down;
I see it open up to me,
not a single frown;
it drowns me,
to the front,
to the back;
you're blunt
when you smile
in my eyes
like a child
your disguise
deceived mine;
you go up,
you come down,
not a frown,
but a smile
and a sigh.

I caressed you under neon gleam,
blessed cold night, your heart mine stole;
just five days, what they may seem,
yet five rings the earth has strolled.

Each beat, a drum;
upon the steps I lay
for the ritual to come:
to carve out my heart
for the consumption of none;
for the crude reality
that is being alone,
and yes, you are here
but, are you here?
or just a part of you
stripped, dismantled
from intimacy?
and so this putrid voice
wishes to convey:
"begin your autopsy
in this body of clay"

Finish me with your lips flushed;
rosé on my skin, whetstone
that surrounds me with moans hushed
pleading to have her love sown.

Oh, how noble:
the sound of rain;
soothing flow
containing our pains,
and turning
them into simple water;
a seeping pleasure
that purifies all
with each consoling
crash.

There is a treasure hidden in Palestine
where the formless predict the past,
and in it's trap I've been smitten,
and my death, filled with life looms.