Flavio Alexandre Murilhas

Flavio Alexandre Murilhas Dec 2012

You know, insanity is not for everyone.
Me and you, realize what can be done.
The burnt eyelashes of sleepless nights,
Gut wrenching screams in all our fights.

No matter how much you squeeze me,
the juice is gone, makes me gasp, aridly.
Like beating a river with a wet wake,
What seething difference does it make?

A hard-boiled nothing remains nothing.
The soft spoken truth still comes crushing.
Sometimes I wonder how this all begun,
you know, insanity is not for everyone.

Flavio Alexandre Murilhas Nov 2012

My Little Life Machine

Jaded are the beads that drop.
Moist are the feelings that crop,
Around my little life machine.

Furnished is the smile I make.
Bare all the moments I take,
Inside my little life machine.

Painful, downward swings.
Dripping heavy, burnt wings.
Curled up in my little life machine.

Flavio Alexandre Murilhas Nov 2012

Along the night

I'm going to underline your lips
as I start to watch your hips,
I'm going to highlight your eyes
Watch how they lighten up the skies.

I'll taste your mouth
and I'll head south
to the forbidden valley
between the hills of pleasure.

Kissing your peaks
Going on for weeks,
For your pleasure and mine
Baby, you make me feel so fine.

Your legs, they move,
move along the sheets
the pillows, and beyond
the noise of the streets.

Your breath so fast
Getting there at last
I'm here to hold you now
tomorrow and forever.

I'll make your cold hands
go hot, and witness
the pleasure you try to withstand
and still you want no less.

In the end so sweet,
I hold you near to me,
And you whisper:
"I love you"
And I say:
"I love you too".

Flavio Alexandre Murilhas Nov 2012

Wind Storms

Slow streams of solitude fade
over the landslides in your hair,
gently blowing over your scent
in the wind storms ahead.

Flavio Alexandre Murilhas Nov 2012

Consciousness

Set in stone, carved in fire
my mind was forged.
Resilient and strong too,
my thoughts are disgorged
and then set in glue.

An orb of knowledge is created
with its own imperfections.
As my own mind, incomplete,
provides its own reflections
about kinetic theory of heat.

It searches for more information
and more cultural cognition.
A permanent quest for exact facts,
an eternal run for completion,
trying not to keep the mind lax.

Then it realizes there is no end
for this life long pursuit.
The orb is broken and shattered,
fragments swallowed smooth.
Once again confused, scattered.

Unconditional elaboration
of the endless mind works.
The possible emancipation
of the free mind that lurks
away from the severed reality.

— The End —