When he’s alone in the night,
In the absence of the light
And the presence of the sight,
There, begins the tearing blight:
Dark veiling dark, light veiling light.

(What am I doing?
Poetry-dwelling
In these dunes of salt
With five syllables?)

When he's alone in the night
In the half-presence of the light
There, begins the specular fight –
The scarlet mutiny within.

© LazharBouazzi, December 12, 2016

Loving thoughts to remember,
tie a string around your finger
less you forget and to sadness
surrender.

What is fondly recalled grows
not old and never truly fades.

Angels follow me around all day
how they must sigh relief
when I finally lay down to *sleep

my ego so easily constructs
     a fantasy
in which you, my favorite reader,
       t
           r
       i
           p
over my words and fall into
a wonderland
     with me

a single small s  p  a  c  e
between the blackness of
     these letters
and you fall into my fantasy
where we relish in
     our fetters

we forget to climb back out
as the passion starts
     to mount

we lose our minds with pleasure
hands and mouths
     d      i
           s      c
                 o      v
                       e     r
                             hidden treasure

the words that you pour out
my own that you soak up
leave us beggingpleadingscreaming
till our keyboards
light back up