Impeccable. Your
body is not your own. You work
with me to find the soul in place.

In unconsciousness
dark voices become music. What
have you left behind in your heart?

How not to grieve?
I am searching for light in the garden
of dying love, in the hands of the moon.

No reason to sleep
without eyes shut. A candle walks
to measure the contours of the moon.

The pink eyes of flames
start firing on the water
to spark the poetry of the deacon.

We will come back
to the burning ghat to bow down and
the urgency of going home.

Why dysphoria in
opportunity? A vicious attack kills
a living stone.

A thief will take
away the shoes of love. It was
a lingo of changing the names.

I will not declare
my belief in naming or being proud
of the legs of a sitting god.

Waiting for you in
dark before the second moon
comes. Timeless pain casts shadow.

Can you find human
knowledge somewhere for me? The
small pause slips between us.

I want to listen again
Beethoven and watch Van Mogh,
mesmerized. Why love disappeared?

Your sadness was sleeping
in my poems. A very scary scene
to wash the wounds of denial.

Never the varicose can
climb the heart, when herons come
back home one by one in white.

You want to lift the
hollow legs to tree birds like
nightingales. It was a validated ****.

Not afraid in
love to carry the burning coals
on palm to ignite the moon.

It sparks the eyes
of the Irish in the dark. The tears return
from the sinking home.

You always need a
weapon to multiply the stars
of **** pains in the heart of the ocean.

You fell for a hanging
love of an unknown. Yes and yes
you go for a kiss through the fog.

Lurking in dark, you
chase me to collect the gender of
moon. Second genesis comes on the surface.

So it was congenital,
my pain of sinking in flames of
love. Roses always scented.