Eriko

Eriko Mar 2017

simply breathing
like the white washed hills
of notorious syllables
spilling, crying like crows
over the gushing riversides
and the spatter of rain,
the soft trickle of fog
scouring the trees under
a blanket of white wash walls,
prancing concrete roads
paved black like mirrors
down into the yonder
and the bristling chirps,
the crying youngsters
of spring awakening,
she greets with that
of a thundering storm

Eriko Jan 2017

Speak

sunshine,
rain crisply tattering
on the gazebo wooden beams
where the moss grows tall
the daisies wither naught
and duo respirations
beating like a thunderous soar
of golden warmth
as two breathing souls
consume the tattering rain
and faint bleak sunshine
under a wooden beam
and moss-grown roof
waiting patiently for the
other to finally
speak

Eriko Nov 2016

Untitled

sometimes,
I feel incomplete.

sometimes,
I need to be
                     here.

sometimes,
I wish I
                    could turn back
                                            to the days

            I felt
                                                                                                                 *infinte

Eriko Nov 2016

cuisine

stretched, widening grins
plastered in red lipstick
and a smirk beloved
clapping heels and twirling skirts.

spilling red wine soaked into cloth
oozing smell of a cheeses and wood,
of cobblestone streets and cracking walls,

laughter, trickling down the brisk night air
the alleyway tight and sparkling,
the night alive with an affair
between moon and cuisine,
between human and love

#love #wine #food #night #cuisine

Eriko Oct 2016

illustrator

I didn't become an illustrator by choice
the slip of words,
the heat of cheeks,
the clothing I adorn,
an illustrator, an imposter
a viel drifting in anticipation
for the yonder and all

what do I mean?

Eriko Oct 2016

Afloat

maybe here, here is something
a puddle lukewarm and thinning
as the cracks in the pavement
tremor in the running wind,
running leaves and running colors
dappling with a blissful laughter,
I reach my hands out and grasp nothing
and everything combs through
my tiny, tired fingers,
I breathe and taste the sweet air,
I look down and feet is no longer there,
I am a float, here,
here where something can be

Eriko Oct 2016

Horizons

Maybe another *****
And endearing fear
Dwindling like fallen leaves
A brush of reminiscent breath
And crunch of gravel
Sinking of sand
Another horizon
To topple over