that blond girl
with long long hair
is a color
of delightful luminosity
glaring
by a precise
poetic sensuality
of the tongue
tapping the palate
hitting the right note
concurrently
manifesting a tone
an equivalence of a smile
in all worlds

She –
made of lustrous transparent rose skin
is a goddess of temptation
the curling ice queen
on a museum floor
manifesting ****** to
not believing eyes
once dressed up
in tightly packed dark clothing
unfitting to the straight torso

jutting out the shine of
her far away alluring looks
the porter of ancient nordic landscapes is her eyes
which you’d choiceless fly through

She – the divine breeze made to softly aerate
angelic locks –
innocence of youthful dreams
joy may you call her laughter -unheard – freezing time
rebuilding traces of an unlived dream

She is here today

to harmonize the thought chords
attuned by the subtle passage
made of blurry sets of colors and lines
flowing at a readable rate  
along the dark November backgrounds
of an intoxicated Sunday morning

Red is still red in the neon
as if too early to be awake
clock hitting the afternoon
wall of fame signs rolling lonely
to haunt ghosts of yesterday nights
which have never come alive until they got brighter than the stars

Dark that shall make the silhouettes forget and reanimate
the never starting and neverending play of zombies
looking for a pure soul

always somewhere else
failing to find one

Flashes of illusion swept by the persistent horns

to be replaced in their place
not as divinity
but as an administrative layer of impurity
All replaceable at once
while everyday stays the same
while everyday they think is different
except for the old man

the old man doesn’t think
wearing a cap
sits there outside
at the most invisible corner of an old theater café

He sees everything he has three eyes
He hears everything he has three ears
He reads everything always the same newspaper
turning the pages in the same tempo of this chimerical dream

I am being observed I know
while writing beside him
and he says silently :
I don’t wanna read yours
but I can read you
if i want to
and he attempts to go
many many times

while I write I wish him stay
as if keeping an admirer beside my words
an anonymous faceless friend
and I speed up as I walk fast with my pen I fly
and he gravitates back to his chair again
restlessly

I want to finish this up quickly and walk away at once without even looking at him not even once
that’s the perfect scenario I think mixing up a reality to a dream
considering the urgent importance of this line makes me immerse and see nothing other than the self  but alas the traffic lights turn to green

and She – the profile of my beauty queen
holding a beaker to go
raises her head dancingly
arcs the neck
and in slow motion
throws a laughter to the air
whose weight should be a blissful wiege
for my loving looks –
made of a shape of a missing
of what I could have never been
– halving her pink coat in well fitting blue to her jeans

and she steps forward to fade away
leaving me chained to the glorious gravity
of this untouchable dream

on this invisible island of mirrors
which neither she nor anybody else has ever seen
but me

hopelessly sculpting now
a reflection of an illusion
made real
through the weight of these words
me is  a sad melody
of an autumn leaf
falling for her dream

As it is hard to tell you how I feel
I'll tell you through closed lips
That I took a vow of silence
To prevent both mine and your embarrassment

This season
I cannot give
Fancy gifts
And shiny things.

This season
I know
I cannot love you
Like you love me.

But it doesn't mean
I don't love you
With all I have
For this season
I give you my heart.

You taught me how to love, but never how to be loved.
You showed me the beauty of trust; the bond of friendship.
You were never mine, but I yours.
You weren't my first kiss, and you won't be my last.
But, you were my first love.
My first real, true, deep love.

I don't even know if you realize how much I love you.
Or if you ever will.

We haven't spoken in months, almost a year.

You voice has faded,
Your laugh is gone,
Your smile is lost,
Your embrace has vanished.

Yet, my love for you remains untouched.

It always seems to come back to you.

You ******* me up real good, without even realizing it.

I wonder when I realized I loved you.

Was it when I couldn't breathe while in a room with you, but I couldn't imagine being anywhere else?

Was it when we were young, simply enjoying each others company?

Or was it when I realized the interactions I had with you - no matter how short or how long - were what got me through the day?

You.

It was always you.

I admitted today that if I was to wait for anyone to fall for me, it would be you - and only you.

I've tried hating you.
I've tried letting go.
I've tried forgetting you.
I've tried moving on.
Believe me, I've tried.

But for some reason, I always come back to you.

If you could see me now you'd tell me I'm crazy.
But maybe you're right.
You make me crazy.

I miss you more than you know.
More than you should be allowed to miss someone.

You were always my favorite "hello" and hardest "goodbye".

I used to be angry at you - resentful even that you left.

You started the patterns of goodbyes.

But I'm not mad anymore.
I just hope you're happy now... wherever life has taken you.

Because, you taught me how to love..

The ring is on my hand,
  And the wreath is on my brow;
Satins and jewels grand
Are all at my command.
  And I am happy now.

And my lord he loves me well;
  But, when first he breathed his vow,
I felt my ***** swell—
For the words rang as a knell,
And the voice seemed his who fell
In the battle down the dell,
  And who is happy now.

But he spoke to reassure me,
  And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o’er me,
And to the churchyard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D’Elormie,
  “Oh, I am happy now!”

And thus the words were spoken,
  And thus the plighted vow,
And, though my faith be broken,
And, though my heart be broken,
Behold the golden keys
  That proves me happy now!

Would to God I could awaken
  For I dream I know not how,
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,—
Lest the dead who is forsaken
  May not be happy now.