Rayénari Das

Rayénari Das Mar 2015

My mouth excretes flowers on top of my mother's grave,
im still cold;
waiting for the vision of Carnero.

There are some hidden palaces
blooming their sa(n)dness
at the polluted delta
that caresses my soul.

And im letting go
the blue balloon
of your
surface.

Tomorrow at night
we will have our last dinner
with the poison spilling from red violent lips
to sacred concerto stunning fingers.

#vision

Rayénari Das Mar 2015

Ai-ku

Snapdragon expel
unpleasant perfumes of my
**** old tenderness...

Rayénari Das Feb 2015

Moonless poem.

This is an immortal battered moon
bleeding
the sacred nectar
of time.

#moon #red #minimal #blut

Rayénari Das Feb 2015

Hide and Mr Jerking off

Hide your scars
away from my lips
and maybe
illness will save us from past

Hide your lips
from my fire mouth
and maybe
we'll meet in the entrance of love

Hide your legs
from my one-thousand-eyes
and maybe
the end will take us
to the awakeness
or the misery
of being
two
sparks
of
divinity.

Hide your shame
into my chest
and i promise my love
i'll keep it safe
and clear
and pure

Hide anything
but
your
soul.

#spontaneous

Rayénari Das Feb 2015

Minimal bleeding

The poem bleeds
from the ancient city of emperors
and pours his saliva
about geniuses
on mothers *****
in small wooden churches ;
the poem bleeds,
coloring with mystery
the tasteless past
of the sorrows of the world.

#blood #confusion #minimal #non-sense

Rayénari Das Feb 2015

Des(espera) tu ausencia

I Remained silent vacuum
without daring shapes
to show unrecognizable parasites
sleeping in your ******* and your smiles.

I said that no matter,
who despairs,
that incinerates,
that choking...

is flawless silhouette of your everlasting forms
of your solidarity equine representations
doing frills over my magnetism of heat-dog
corrupting my virginal research
and breaking the enthusiasm of my seaquakes.

It has fallen thy angel of the thousand forms,
masks jump over spaces of infamous digital corpses.
shadows refuse to remain shadows
and the big destuctor starts to devour 12-penises little girls.

The actual search of thirst

-Sobre, hombre, cumbre, hambre...

ride furious over my back
spur my libidinous thoughts
memorize my pre-meditated ejaculations
break your ***** against my gloomy loser fingers.

We are alone
lost
but
i
have
said
that does not matter
that choking...

who despairs your absence ...

translated from the original in Spanish
Rayénari.

#trance #absence #spur #cosmic-love

— The End —