It's navy-night streaked with dusty stars and cold sand creeping into places I'd much rather be. It's arms streaked with bits of you as entity glows in fickle-firewood-flare and your hands eversearching and my hands eversearching for all that is you in abundance. It's the milkyway in your blue eyes and the ocean in your smile. Every small beauty you notice. How every strand of freedom on your luscious head tells a story of the truthfulness one finds in people when they don't notice. It's your voice - and imagine strings - goosing up my skin. It's darker and it's glowing and it's further and we don't really need the half-light so we wet our feet but it should be colder but it isn't. It's almost there and actually there and you're lovely here. It's falling asleep at nine-eleven-two-four, waking up in between and having you to fill. It's the last draw of lips and your condensation on my neck. How you should be wrapped tighter-untilthegapsareallgone. How I'd trace every dip and rise, the lines that make the muse and kiss
Until exhaustion closes.
Your chestful echoes deeper
Your butterfleyes fluttering closed
It's feeling you
Splitter-splatter-splutter
Your story onto this stained canvas and making it worth a glance or fourteen;

Crinkly in madness, self doubt and pity
I laugh like a madman and speak as if witty
I dance with your demons for they dance with me too
I lost mine some time back
They're left dancing in you
For lovers come and go
And so do demons
You know

And I wonder 'neath dimming night light
Why happiness's never seem to sit right
And then become little forgottens
in all the wrong places
Where flesh lies half rotten
In little jump-jerkles
Upon sensing the fear
Of being forgotten, here
I know

That maybe some weren't ever meant
To lead it foolish and giddy
Joyful and witty
Maybe I
Aye I
Was destined to die
Crinkly in madness, self doubt and pity

follow tar veins
flowing through chiseled earth
to my obfuscated world where i'll wait

and if by dawn you arrive
in your whirlwind of grace
i'll show this place

we can dance
amid notes
amid words
amid silence

if you're willing to find me
before the morn breaks

Passed  a  neglected  garden  of  late.
It  seemed  in  quite  a ­­ sorry  state.
Some  men  came  to  make  some  notes.
But  seem­ed  to  give  it  little  thought.
Up  on  high  the  grasses  gr­ow.
Beneath  the  windows  row  by  row.
The  other  plants  just­ ­ cry  with  pain.
I  guess  we'll  never  grow  again.
They  ha­ve­  taken  up  our  space  on  the  ground
Like  an  advancing  ­army  I'll  be  bound.
They  are  taking  our  water  Oh  my.
As ­ they  journey  to  the  sky.
Perhaps  it  soon will  be  resolved.­
And  peace  will  reign.
Once again

Keith  Wilson    Windermere.  UK.  2016­.

A
  D
    A
      Y
of mystery
           To be solve correctly
For the mystery
                     is ready
                           E
                           V
                           E
                           R
                           Y
                           D
                           A
                           Y
While it is an terrible mystery
                The day will solve
                       Till it end
                The Day of Mystery.
      
                 By K-mari ©2016

“Rain for my words!”
Cried the poet.
But the rain would
Not acquiesce.
For she dreaded
Lnguage Judaskiss.

(c) LazharBouazzi, May 14, 2016; revised, August 2, 2016