That's what writing does to you. It eats

your free time, and your soul it swallows

it whole, so that you don't get hurt

by flesh it breaks your bones with inspiration.

And, the feeling while I'm writing is this ecstasy

that controls my senses. I was meant for this,

ink tainted fingers, blank pages and this loneliness.

*Sandoval

I bleed words not blood.


So, if you hurt me. I'll scar

verses not wounds.

*Sandoval

She* could see it in his eyes.

He was leaving soon, and it was too late to try.

She wanted to scream "stay," but in their silence,

she understood it was goodbye.


*Sandoval

Like the horizon hiding between the

sea and the sky,

near and distant all at once. To me,

that's what you are.

*Sandoval

Love* is a drug,

distance is rehab.

One look from you eyes,

and I'll relapse.

*Sandoval

I was not born a

poet.

I was broken into

one.


*Sandoval

Vial's wine ...

as a bottle of alcohol ...
you are ...
your soul ...
your breathes ...
your heart ...
your eyes...
even your lips are ...
the sweetest wine ...
will never get irrigate of them ...
will be always thirsty to your wine ...
i would be always of you drunk ...
to be the madly crazy lover ...
to your sweet only lips ...
sweetheart...
  
your lips are the factory of wine ...
as the river always runs ...
gives the pure pleasant water ...
that water never ever get before ...
that water which it like the wine ...
since i kiss them ...
i got so drunk ...
because of the your honey nectar ...
the honey of your mouth ...
which it mixed with your breathes ...
to make the great wine ...

sweetheart mine ...
your lips always my wine ...
and want to be always of you drunk ...

yes sweet angel mine ...
you are my vial's wine ...

hazem al ...

The warmth
inside your crevice
makes me rock hard
as I unearth your depths
peeling back layers
searching your peaks
in sight of your crests
our chest abreast
so close I can
taste the warmth
on your breathe