veins of my fingers in riots of blossomed colours
like threads made of lilac, lavender, blues and leafs.
for the blues are essences of the Elysian skies,
while lilacs, lavenders and leafs were stolen from an old man's farm

every dawn the sunlit blue wept for the docile stars' hide
I knock my knuckles red and wild, like the raspberries from the monsieur's farm
my chin against the beige, I gaze to where the magpies talk too loudly on the garden moist
swollen and offended by the loud chirps of boisterous dins, the grouchy neighbour cry.

I fill my baskets with wild things and papers,
I have cheese and juices, fruits and sweet carrots.
I have peach trees on my nails for jam
I have cherries in my toes for pie
I have snows in my lapin's soul for some ice creams
I have poppies in my worn pants for a good sight
And there's even vineyards of all Verona in my mind

the ribbons on the hat loom into the gardens' tunnel;
I have herb gardens, I have secret gardens 
And I have my old books and pens in there.
when my laces are riven, the embroidered flowers are not.

the canvas shoes is painted in petrichors and soil
my dresses go tattered, sewn with patches
into the vines, thorns and russet throats I lilt and leap
against smells of rustic wood pencils and redolent flowers
There, under a green willow is where to sit and devour wisdom
and to drink some saccharine wine with mon lapin and maybe some picnic pies.

The abominable tremors will be gone,
My morn soul diving into fairy pools of sensuous europhias.

His body lost temperature as he pressed himself against the chest of hers, seducing her with his love.
With his sleepy **** voice, he hums her romantic morning lullabies.
The gray walls of the room soon embosomed with gleaming hearts of their beauteous lust and speedy soft breaths, leaving nothing more but powder blushes of crimson on her flowery cheeks in the springtime dawn.

The honeyed lust in the veins lit the bodies of two lovers like candles into eternal flames of romance.

Under the chocolate brown duvets,
Milky fragrances of the tea dances along the bare hands of two lovers,
while he serves breakfast on bed to her in an old-fashioned way.
Bleak morning mist tango around the vitreous skins of scratched windows,
as fat hummingbirds' tinkling giggles paint beyond the nature's smiley meadows,
sending a major abundance of lovable freedom and glee to the people.

In the bathtub,
Velvety calyx of dreamlover rose flows smoothly through the silk water.
They shower each other and let warmth grasp their naked body.
He kissed her dancing soul of chasms out
and tie uncountable amount of butterfly knots to her pancake stomach.
His abilities of heart possessions had captured the universe's breath.

Nothing has changed since day number one, everything is iridescent.
Everything is swimming in a magical pool of scarred perfections.

As the sun sets to the west,
The undarkened nightfall sings lulling melodies and let its harmonic fire burn the skies.
The shadows of their love whirl out unstoppable romance that vanished away void hopes and pain.
The lover's spirits echo and echo into spring gorges and dashing rivers,
Feeding darkness with lucent fragments of light.

Oh they were only two humans in love...
Or only a size of two negligible lovedust in the mystical galaxies...

But their endless love never fails to deluge the world with drizzling tears.
A facile spark of romance can be an amazing set of fireworks that creates indiscernible fruitful happiness.

Who in the world could resist this unpredictable power of their spingtime love?

footsteps like swan feathers,
flow to behind the tombstones—
where I will call the memories and lay;
to wake for the times anew.

Greenish hills and alice blue skies
whimsical faeries wander along the timberlands
play hide and seek around pine groves
brimming the atmosphere with liquid of blithe.

a pair of cerulean eyes glitter under a lucid sun,
and reflected a thousand rainbows.
the feet you danced, headed forth to the ethereal grounds.
in those fleecy palms held a bouquet of fresh peonies.
as the wind huffs and grins, the fruit trees leafs begin to compose
as if in an orchestra house.
around my body flew a rabble of butterflies, your psyche is surreal.

"You came back"
I grasp to his muscular limbs, to fracture and to feel with seraphic love.

By the night the archaic moon hangs, all my dreamless night pulverized.
gory scenarios in my brain surrendered for an escape.

My heart pumps, my collarbones shrieks,
on our old bed, up-down, up-down, in-out, in-out....
"ah." the hue of a merry-go-round.


As the summer reborn, the reality seizes..
                    our love is immortal without a fullstop

-l.r

melancholy blanketed the whites
scarred voices muffled by
a ****** mind.
an avalanche stuck in my soul
severer than a bee at a forked road
   how confused!

red-cheeked petals and afternoon birds glare
    in confusions at the footsteps :
unbalance, shaded, muted!
the green umbrella's warm, so scorchingly cold!
all embittered, by solemn beams of the soulless sun.
     their eyes widen,
     for they had never seen such lone,
for such lone, rare, is forbid to the sons of nature,
never belong to happy child's arms,
that dreams in a mother's charm.

grieving droughts in the air and grass,
no dews, why!,
   yawned the madden, soporific rabbit
Ah, so wild.

the windless noontime cross, my quivers stopped, mild.
lashes waxed, blacken like a coal,
  mind stuck in a haze, or maybe a threatening maze.

stiffness of the air injected to my nostrils
into my white tongue they will soak, like perfumes to a clothe.
Selene will gaze angrily at this and say,
      why no, it shouldn't be in there!
the midnight orchids waver and frown.

soon the frothing dreams peter,
but the bolded letters in a white board stay,
my chair stays.

creaks of an abominable burden became a din.
The smudges of grey-white dust I smelt
hover gaily in the air of pompous breath.
    spellbound by the stagnant languor,
mazy, in hallucinations of the heat and homesick.
    I sought the fount of hypocrisy and vile,
my hiding nonchalances rosen
(towards a flock of friends)
and loathes to an abominable sun frozen
(I wished it to die!)

Tilted to the windows,
I saw nothing, but fatal secrets of a heart rosed
like window dust to a nose.

In the midst of old ravines and paintings, a succulent soldier dreams.
As dawn starts to paint, as the secondhand piano plays,
his azure iris will gaze
to the sun- the faraway maiden.
In hope that one day, he'd sunbathe and chase dreams
with spring nymphs in holy fields of bonnets and poppies.

Into the poetic imaginations he submerged,
eating dainty buns,saccharine berries and milk by a spiral pond;
and pirouette like butterflies on feathery grass with florets and mist.

Far across the sullen lakes, He'd run with the spring squirrels and foxes;
through the honeyed prairie, the crooned secrets echo faintly like a damsel's song.
In between His spellbinding tales, plants they giggle in harmonious blithe—
that even the gale who gush by in haste, would stop and peer with serene awe.

Abundance of miraculous faith He ignited to his vein,
for the black dots of his crest and spine to someday evanesce.
And in ease, realms of woodlands and lone moors abound upon his eyelids,
that mother nature awaits him.

tick tock, two steps away from the holy born of Christ,
He died of collapsed dream, like muddy landslide of wet monsoon.
His soul— a soul of a fey,beatific and mesmeric dreamer, perish away in stardust.
a shriveled lilac body, graven into a treasure box, a seraphic smile carved.

With waterfalls and chrysanthemums,
moonbeam and fog, an elegy,
and a handful of brimmed ash—the box sealed like a secret letter.

that dusted night
ashes charily scattered to the wide empyrean
along with a brush of vain agony.

Rest in peace, Floyd the cactus.

the halcyon timberland rest
a cottage with gliding vines upon its wall
tasted soot and first snow,
knew the land where all grass grows.

I am a piece of mild apple rotting in merry hues
upon skeletons of twirling tree roots.
I peek skywards to the ripen boughs
and the mirthful hopping birds  
of gold and yellow, of ruby and dream.

Amidst a silvery silent
sun rays make its glow of gold
with the sapphire ocean's salt.
Hear the wealthy sea soughing from afar?
in quiet burrows the rabbit takes its ample rest
as deep and soundly as dormant butterflies
in the green harmony bushes;
with the subtle, halcyon seawaves' singing...
A fine lullaby indeed.


**l.r

Out by the clean blue river
the pale full moon hums a song
Lily buds by the woods keep its vigil
forlorn and crestfallen, gaily sings.
The sky is drowsy with beaks and feathers of mist
Little nightingales chirp queerly on the sycamore trees.
Hibiscus petals doze soundly, the cackling birds hobble.

The white, epicene faces peep in riveting eyes
Dancing with milk-white limbs and garnet cheeks
Brown eyes with ample warm, precious as fairy gold.
The babyish little birdvoices,
who sing and pirouette out innocence;
Melodic rhythm of the flowing river  
seething out the blithe without worries.
Cold clouds and rabbits like fluff honey
Little stars tonight will be candies.

embers drew to a shaded face, fragmented lips wept;
storms, feral and unabated, loitering in the combe of fires.
the ethereal visions of honey amber lights, faint and narrow;
ebony of my pupils dead, alike of shriveled meadow.

violence thrusted into yellow mouths of daffodils,
like tapestries like yarns of blue saccharine sorrows.
brimming with viscid liquids of blackeries and vains,
like silver mackerels, sleeping out of the abyss, on a train;
like subtle, maladroit shorthands and dewy black inks,
who lilts the fawnish plateaus and quaint alleys.

the depths of my shallow sleeps, glowing under
the burnt foliage, mellifluous sonatas gently play;
strawberries occur under bare walls of throat,
vanish on the morrow, like a dalliance—
so frantic and hollow.

on the villa's balcony, smell of Chanel on papillae
an old siamese cat lays, while a soaked diary takes her rest
for the fountain pen's ink had smell of faint success.

the sugar smell like snow
a spilled tea smelt of rose
diving into mildness and hollows

the odeur follows;

alas! a hail of thunders had came like swords,
it had smell of blood, of rust and warmth;
but the earth smells fancy, and my flowers are in love.

in light, and in truth,
the red white days, balmy as bright weather
will peter, in no such way.

Your eyes,
they are like wildflowers.
They wander around in spiritual freedom.
And they are strong as ever.

Sometimes when they twinkle,
They twinkle like two stars,
That shines the brightest up in a Georgian night sky.

I wish your eyes would twinkle that way
When they met mine.

And if only your eyes could tell you,
How much sorrow they discovered in my eyes.
So that maybe one day,
You would come back to me and heal it.


People used to tell me that
my eyes were beautiful.
But who in the world knows how
my eyes would have that ability,
To blind people from seeing that
they were actually pretty sad too...



*-l.r

fogs on the pond,
gleam like fire on a voile.
awes flying with comets,
painting upon a starless sky.

lily pads silvered,
blue night young with shivers.
dulcet tone of the harp croons,
melodic like a poet's rhymes.

crystallized blood sweet of mist,
lingering on her lily-white ribs.
in the land where Mozart's energy sought,
in staccato his beauty fought.

To the doors,
the moors hide;
behind the half-light,
the garden ripe.

 in fey music, in sullen mist,
       the agonies and myths,
together in all
bequeath,
        to the flow of a rosary's beads.

roam the fingers, thin and light.
beguile by the brooks, chilly and frighted.
rust in trunks, ****** bells in hums,
greens they run, yellows the sun.

down the ripples, silent and long;
appear books, of language and song.

in the books, shall be love-
veiled beyond views
from branches I once sew;
the stains in the berries, the one in teas,
redden every morning, on laced napkins;
the love of ballet songs; in waves of faerie wands;
The cloaked mist, in time, of the faces I still want.

It's fall now, I am still in my daydream.
My fingers fondling with the perforation of my paper,
Quartz color lights in my short-sighted view beams, like lilies
The films he forgotten thrown on wood,
I could hold on I whisper to myself
I am shrewd enough.
I could die, to the voice inevitably resonant in my ears
I could bear on the crumpled, the crinkled, the crippled.
but why do memories reign
why am I dying to this qualm?
I promise
I'll be me, your fleece-like Ophelia
I'm not forgotten, I whisper to myself.
My pupils dilating to the fading of light,
I crawled to the switch,
but lights couldn't be on.

*l.r