I need to turn these days
into attractive dust
moments left abandoning
a selfish recreation
of secrets employing
their own role in
a landscape of desperate longing

like an angel whose inconsistent stability
will disappoint the
courts of categorical righteousness
tossing into the wind of verdicts
a rebel leaf that will
someday find its way
into the bedrooms of anxious jurors
showing once and for all
the impermanence of contentment

I could appreciate her today. I had been watching those golden gestures compliment the frame of elegant houses. And for moments alone on a reflective sidewalk, I had forgotten what my face looked like. Yes, she was a whistler of pastel importance. A type of language only significant when the island pores of sensitive humans bleed open shamelessly and without counsel for their tears. The afternoons have a style all to their own, and I remember glass.

While on a beach, when she kissed me with the urgency of a sensitive poison, I could not help but scatter across the shore-lengths, the households of my heart, allowing room only for the remedy, I looked beyond her and forgot to make room for her smile, that went unnoticed fading as a shadow on my face.

Are you anxious, my dear evening? Are you not my closest friend? (Where is your cousin, my memory?) Can you not wait until that one afternoon, when we will pounce upon the horizon, like cats in heat, and tear the sun apart limb from limb? We will leave its sensitive shine to sweat upon pathetic days no more! Yes, the evening is a villain I’m proud to call my friend. Her ways allow much more room in the playground for mischievous  lovers, than those dull afternoons spent thinking about breathing. Where is your cousin, my memory? She has served a type of convulsively appreciative use for my feelings and continues to parade around my daydream swing set. Nonetheless, she has always remained a spectral participant in my life, pregnant with regret, and punctures my comfortableness with the sweetest of stings, leaving a taste with me she knows I’ll never forget.

Inside the day, convulsions sweep me within the circular tide, whose currents endlessly root themselves along the shores of disappointing sentiments. Abandoning a singular precision, in using reverie with a blade to carve out the jewels with splendid contour, fashioned after the exquisite role of the past, I have failed to attract the elegant throats around which I stalk the beautiful endlessly.

I know of pink corners in the mind: Forest of sweet perfumes, whose travelers lend a hand to the ******* of sunset and its nervous mapping of amateur stars. There is a moment’s history in the certainty of salivating worlds: An odyssey for lovers who play cards at night and whose ideas for strategic foreplay are used like stilts. Hovering over a table, soaked with invisible juices, they are found flirting with each other’s secret personalities—heirs to the hormonal vibration of wet thoughts.

Every night I lay into a pink sleep, which is the secrecy of her arm’s love for me. There is a solace for me in her eyes… if only I could live in their reflections forever! A landscape of exploding glass-works, that trickle wet stories down her beloved face. Into my dreams, they will fire an inscription of dazzling intimacies, in soft-blue storms of light. I want to run away with her down private roads, that glisten with the unrest of heartbeats.

A gang of soft banana clouds levitate above the room while clothing themselves in yellow mists. They spill in blonde waves splashing on the neck a tropical flavored consciousness! Young, female patrons can’t help but throw their pretty heads back into pools of fruit sweat. Their boyfriends having tasted too much of this winter couldn’t help themselves but dive into heated waters of this rainbow pheromone.

let’s imagine summer girls in golden clothes
o how many of them dressed up like soft fires!
Black streets will melt under a trace of warm steps
While passersby offer sun-buttons and light-drenched smiles

Today, in lovely flames, many females now flooded
Celebrating in slow strides, the yellow-dances
Wandering aimlessly with wild winds in their hair,
A choir of sunbeams off their tongues flash the air
While, singing they begin a most tranquil street-fair

Here we sit together in a park
Of splendid rumors
A dawn of turbulence bathed in
The glamorous shine of scandal
Yes indeed we have heard stories
Apart from each other we consider
A silent jewel to be an
Accomplice to the nature of
Ambiguity

You must think I disassemble my personality
To ****** a blue foam
A trickle fire erupting its
Blossom water on the edge
Of my nose
We have argued to speak no longer
Of a cuddling electric sea friend
Unless we are under the fragile net
Of sleep draped with angelic murmur
Watching in ***** position I
Helped the sun turn our
Arrangement into attractive dust
Dust however will be left

Not to chase across infested
Roads
Yet counting how many particles
Explode the roofs off an
Unappreciative town
One by one and with all that
Is familiar with the multitude
Of destructive glory
Fashioning a farewell sigh and
Letting our hands tremble
Ten stories above our rhyme
We cursed the wind leaving
A mystery drowning

The place where one spends afternoons counseling a beguiled village on the depravity of their daydreams, a slow porcelain horse is trapped in its own celebratory air on the moment of its leap, over a fountain whose waters drench the rider’s proud eyes, and view of the whole spectacle.

A heated swell of perfume
Dripping from his lover’s cheek
Welcomes many more feelings to surrender
Than the windshield reveals now

Driving upon waterfall roads
Couples are seen as fashionable animals
While the starlet sisters giggle
Behind trees where winds sneak around
Carefully.

While the passengers slide upon each other’s laps, a ruffling of clothes is heard in a car nearby. The naivete of subtle experience may someday welcome someone to slip along the sweaty steps of pleasure-stained pools: The ****** Congregation, where the logistics of the court presume “Not Guilty” indefinitely. For temptation is more than desire in Vain, but human curiosity. We can only predict our immediate future and what certain components are to be gained up until a certain point. But new found treasures lie awaiting our innocent stumble, many instances where a courtship often leads to a garden of rose-colored garter belts. Which serve in replacement for telephone wire strung above homes whose tenants excitedly plan for the next affair.

They just came off the carousel
And now they will roam and
Wander with blissful stares

I will soon join them, hoping
To find wild women and
Coconut lotions

We will be free, we’ll dance
And swim

They just came out of the water
And now they will journey
Into the night’s mystery

I will soon join them, excited
To discover new voices in
New places

We will be free, we’ll talk
To one another and share our
Lust for experience

They just came out of the
Woods and now they will
Sleep with their lovers, awaiting
The blink of dawn

Tiny explosions along a diamond anklet
That wraps a tender, tan leg like water
Princess of beach religion
Slow motion dazzling beauty
Tossing sand-confetti
Her girlfriends run towards the sprinkling cascade
With satin action
Acting like satin
Tribe of water-brides
Oceanic fan club of sparkling lust
Discreet danger possible only in slow jewel worship
Prince of glamorous indifference
Reclines in the branches of a shiny glass tree

Two half-naked bodies whirling about in the streets. Our thoughts pillowed against soft winds that blow a friendly touch under our skin. To explore love with a stranger is not a sin save for those intentional grins. A shoulder of yours exposed in this light flashed against my eyes. Already a tender friendship with your body. Watching your eyes watch me watching us with calm degrees intending such. Your awkward smile is beautiful because it is sincere. A nervous breeze encircles our waist and words disguise a melody unchaste. To make a love out of meeting you is the same love preceding you each time an effort is made in completing two.

A certain romantic light plays with my senses the way liquid streets uproot steps random in their dances!
I love it when we smile in lamp-light seconds!
I can always desire you in temporary trances.
A poet at work is like when love strikes with lances!
You calm me in your green meadow romances.
I ask of you, introduce me to the fire of your glances.
At times I need to sleep with the integrity of historical stances.
I will remain myself however lonely in miles or milliseconds. To make a lover out of life is to ask the moon for a dance.
Whether or not she refuses I will continue to love our chances.

Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.

Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?

With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.

Spend time with me sister! The sister I know I don’t have, a confusing passenger in my mind, that continues to bleed upon the apple-peels in my daydreams, where has your real reason for being envisioned burrowed? Is it not beneath the coal-white heated sands of my misbehavior? Or in the convenient pleasures of misjudgment. Either way your whisper wasn’t loud enough for my distracted eyes, those mobile shells recording the affairs of a race in which I am far behind, far too interested in spying on the obvious I often rest.

we sink into smiling depths, that coil dreams around a fireplace of wooden friendships. Fragments of silent histories conspire, bridging a new entrance into the bladed halls of honest trappings. How wonderful a step! There is no solitude in whispering lawful communion and citizenship can always be stolen from the sleep of crystal dogs and their invisible masters.

I want the sparks again
The sparks of the road
My real home
I go to bed with adventure
Freedom
My bliss
Amorous traveler I am
Lover of experience and romance
Honorable among the stars
My heart is strong, pure and playful
I throw my arms around exciting moments
And after awhile
Let them slip away like lovers after a dance
Only to continue dancing myself
To my own music
Filled with passion
And love-dreaming

Exotic drops of sky
The oceans tiny tears
Sprinkle into ornament
Slow eyelash fire into blue
She cries wet jewelry
And sudden sparks that wink at moonlight
Princess of sparkling afternoons

What is there to know?
America
As well as other lands
Other than the strength of an eagle
To endure
And celebrate in flight
All the world’s obstacles radiant in our eyes

To adopt ourselves
Those rough carvings through the air
But take for our integrity
The grace in the leopard’s stride

While all the while
Sink our velvet fangs
Into the feast of happiness

Nothing short of emphasizing jewels and love!
Every day the parade of all things wonderful

Fierce whips of love light
Dance in front of my eyes
Opera of our souls
Slow majesty curtain of the ******
Can never bleed and stain our pure hearts

We approach people admiring sunsets
Ignorant of their beings
We love them like statues moving
Slow, physical, vivid bodies

What am I?
But a wounded storm
Slow, cold winds of apathy
Yet, I boast in having the heart of an eagle
Running through America’s screaming woods of our time

I rise again
From rough American ashes of the past
Like a dark brown eagle
With eyes full of his loving blonde girlfriend
I strike slowly
Gathering the momentum of love
Through the satin country of my fantasies
Do I strike with new care?
Or finally slow explosion sparks illuminate the air
Lanterns of disgust
I whisper darts into them
And swing from wild branches into the cities
I pass by with ruby eyes
And smile at soon to be saturated citizens
The crowds sparkle because they’re in love with
Something before I got there
I’m lighting matches everywhere
Trying to start bonfires of awareness
And fierce love inspiration
While pointing out the most tender stars

Our country alive with tiger eyes
And swift yet sometimes slow
Gorgeous human behavior

Secret worship in the eyelashes
Empty mirrors those eyes?
Or are they full of beauty and personal religion?
A heart that beats fast religion for the visual
Slow explosion
Glamour rain
Falls with the radiance of jewels
Upon the eyes
The satin of sparks
And I worship with **** breathing
A soft devotion like this can distance the heart
But one’s beauty is one’s happiness and excitement
An excitement competing with the world
A world where few things dazzle us
And inspire us to push our appetites into
The velvet arms of dawn
Or maybe that’s just the opinion of our
Worshipper of wet skies

The waves created a lady for me to talk to
I told her about you
She rose out of the water like an ocean bride
Someone else’s though
Some lucky lesbian siren perhaps
Or Neptune’s discreet mistress
I don’t know
We met each other in midair
I slowly leapt off the edge of the balcony
Gliding towards her over the sand
She levitated a moment before meeting me halfway
A conversation of crystal sadness begins
I told her my name and she told me hers
Her name was Transparency Flower

Arms wrapped around each other in the cool green grass
A slow gallop picks up speed
A parade of sunlight combusting yellow sparks
Across the plain run the yellow mares
Procession of flashes light up our faces
My girlfriend smiles and wets her lips in the sun
I on my way to becoming prince of golden dreams
Drown my face in the sunshine of her being
She gets up and lets fall a thousand golden flakes
Shake off slowly all that kissing
In the tender brightness of our storm
I get up as well and reach towards her
My arm brushes her neck causing fire sparks
In the friction of love
She rolls into me and we slow gaze at each other for a while
In our golden embrace
We notice our possible future
Ahead of us
A stream of sunlight

The wild gallop of golden desire
A chance to mount the yellow mares

My golden girlfriend
A lioness in the sunlight
She brings me
While melting kisses still shine on my lips
Elegant waterfall hair
Blonde as a daydream dreaming yellow mares
Liking her a sunflower crown becomes new religion
She introduced the sun to me
In the flamboyant light of her style and being
Myself, already a worshipper
As I’m sure she’s princess of the wild tribes
Now they’re passions for the sunlight shades
Slow spinning with blonde desire towards the
casual dance of new attraction
Sagittarius and Leo running together ignite
the day with spontaneous heat
Spark of tender amber in the eyes
Turns to burning embraces

She walks by wearing blue stockings in the rainy afternoon
Her youth is like a tender dream
She wears a pair of adolescent stars from her ears
All her boyfriends, when they speak, sound like cool rivers
In the sky-blue of the day
She smiles
The way lilac bushes crush petals into joy

Now three o’clock in the precious afternoon of torn cotton strands
School lets out a riot of sapphire glitter
Some girl stripes her vanilla ice cream cone with azure breathing
On seeing this she faints like a toss of sprinkles

She’s woken by blue candy kisses
Like a cluster of stars falling
From a boy
Upon her face
The constellation of a crush

As she gets up
A thousand blue ponies slide from her rain-water hair
Before disappearing in the distance
Young children mount them tackling flowers

She kisses him
And lets slide the sky-blue of the day from her lips
His arms fall like water around her body
As she turns, racing to make friends with
The twinkling blue of a butterfly’s eye

To pursue an unnatural passion
more sacred to me than any other life lived
Is an adventure
Hung over the palace of desire like a dancer
Head thrown back
Like the slow flash of a jewel
Her limber body bent
Her waist hugged by voluptuous shadows
She almost dangles
Like *** the play of kittens clawing invisible velvet lovers
With one arm raised
Held within a hand of indifference to everything else
That which she imagines for herself and her beloved

Towards love my thoughts run high
But with regards to women
in seeking their embraces
through pursuit never I
No, my desires speed through the trees like cats
With one girl in mind
I stalk the idea
with feline and fierce appetite

A hunger for each other in the sweet winds
often blows a feather-blade against the skin
While glances shine off our bodies like
soft whips in the heart of sin

I love your licentious mouth
in waves of honesty spilling diamonds
An open language without shame
While embarrassing truths bleed out the games:

False arena in which we prey
upon another’s confusion, confusing the sane and
insane jewel of our wonder?

The altar in my church rests invisibly beside her lips and I begin all my prayers inside her mouth. This is where I worship the divine. And this is where I feel most at home. While kissing, I can feel saliva waves splash our senses. And everything takes on the quality of water.

Above all let’s escort desire into loving waters
Our prayers will suffice among the waves
Celebrating in kisses our gentle revolt
Putting faith in the tides and our wet embrace

Liquid churches you might say
float along the ocean
We who throw parties in the sea-spray
are known for our fluid devotion

There are certain flowers
Pretty exquisite by your house
In your garden
Moonlight flowers
Lift their dancing slippers
Up from the soil
And like satin brushes
In these dazzled hours
Slowly paint your name in silver
Across tonight’s
Black and star-studded blouse

She still speaks to me in ways familiar but with her glance sends over the light weapon of our memory in love. There are many sparklings in my head which have for themselves one name and her special touch alone. The movement in our kissing slides a satin wave from our lips. Oh sacred style of missing her lowers my palm collecting icicle-heart drips.

Feather-weight kisses he always misses with equally soft wishes for them it’s not fictitious.

As I lay back against her chest
Her arms around me hug the rest
Like bedside angels do their best
To calm the winds now laid to rest.

I breathe her in soft landscapes of airy music. To embrace her is to step into a castle made of blue fireworks. The scent of her neck sends me falling into the sea of lovely intoxicants. Her face is my favorite place to gaze at. She is the spectacle of any simple space.

The moments are lovely here as I approach her awaiting smile, glistening from just having said everything in blissful glances.

Like a dark-blue angel I walk these streets asleep
Spilling water-thoughts for my sky-blue girlfriend
And with much ease splashing about a serious desire
To express the fluidity in my style of loving her

With her pale-white precious face of a place
Upon that space the moon introduced a sister-image
And in winter’s name with delicate snow-like fame
Dressed my lover’s hands in white cotton gloves

Against white flowers fragile memories clashed
And split the pollen structures with glass exploding past
Thin columns of crystal in this flower architecture smashed
Into lullaby shards with edges quickened the past
Against whose bedroom in this green-garden-flash, my eyes
A whirlwind of tears have lashed!

While on a beach where
An elegant tribe of
Young ladies in tight
Lime-green dresses radiant dared
Bent over to kiss
And so destroyed a sandcastle hallucinated there!

Once ago a time perfect and not only mine but
ours! A love designing sublime rebellion shined!
Days when our kisses held the potential for
avalanches do you recall a faint trembling sign?

The years away from us but that integrity still
inside! A search for those who breathe romantic enterprise!
Nights when smiles meet in agreement toward
best planning the adventure in each other’s eyes!

O pure Sagittarius in light-blue dressed
Your outfit hugs kindly those delicate *******:
water-flowers the moon sprinkled down on your chest
On a sky-pillow your neck how gently it rests

Cloud of porcelain-white asleep in your perfume
The life you breathe into it a slumberous tune
Disrupts a cluster of stars happily may they resume
a ring of memories alive and with us soon

Let beauty influence the architecture of thought

All of this dreaming came first with a silent knock upon the glass. At least one of the girls had pretended to. Three redheads pressed each other’s bodies up in the corner, huddling as if they were some team about to spring their paws across some morality clause.

It is simply now a choice to feel naked. She feels it’s appropriate now to undress for the public which will soon follow her lead. Into the night, they will tear apart the conventional moral creed with ritual dance steps resembling tiger speeds!

And if I go down in flames, let me go down in a freedom reflecting upon your laws a ferocious flower, staining the moment that you gave birth to hypocrisy!

I need to turn these days
into attractive dust
moments left abandoning
a selfish recreation
of secrets employing
their own role in
a landscape of desperate longing

like an angel whose inconsistent stability
will disappoint the
courts of categorical righteousness
tossing into the wind of verdicts
a rebel leaf that will
someday find its way
into the bedrooms of anxious jurors
showing once and for all
the impermanence of contentment

We can manage a dull afternoon
When punished lilies
Imitate the army of rebel waters
Sneaking away on tiptoe
From an empire of lawful soil

Watchful of flood signals
We will wait for a jealous wasp
To peel back the detonators
For springboard demolitions
Fancied on limp petals

While soldiers of nectar’s plight
Talk over plans with bees
We see an enemy of discreet magnitude
Inside us, a showering of infernal degrees
Our hearts soaked in criminal teas

I could appreciate her today. I had been watching those golden gestures compliment the frame of elegant houses. And for moments alone on a reflective sidewalk, I had forgotten what my face looked like. Yes, she was a whistler of pastel importance. A type of language only significant when the island pores of sensitive humans bleed open shamelessly and without counsel for their tears. The afternoons have a style all to their own, and I remember glass.

While on a beach, when she kissed me with the urgency of a sensitive poison, I could not help but scatter across the shore-lengths, the households of my heart, allowing room only for the remedy, I looked beyond her and forgot to make room for her smile, that went unnoticed fading as a shadow on my face.

Are you anxious, my dear evening? Are you not my closest friend? (Where is your cousin, my memory?) Can you not wait until that one afternoon, when we will pounce upon the horizon, like cats in heat, and tear the sun apart limb from limb? We will leave its sensitive shine to sweat upon pathetic days no more! Yes, the evening is a villain I’m proud to call my friend. Her ways allow much more room in the playground for mischievous  lovers, than those dull afternoons spent thinking about breathing. Where is your cousin, my memory? She has served a type of convulsively appreciative use for my feelings and continues to parade around my daydream swing set. Nonetheless, she has always remained a spectral participant in my life, pregnant with regret, and punctures my comfortableness with the sweetest of stings, leaving a taste with me she knows I’ll never forget.