Tender strength, sender's excuse
A sneeze to reach to tomorrow
Avid, we determine a silence was...
A house of compromise, sincerity, and willfulness, to borrow...

Burden yourself with a memory, some other dainty...
A question thought liberty, driven by the wind
Has visited me, in the couth of decency's charity
Simple lessons of anger, and the angel of succumbing kin...

Redoubt is my only defense...
Pied, or provided a callous soul, the taint?
I seek is a lip with no meaning, meant in the essence
We direct to such, a season of wishes, we compare to ain't...

Anarchy in love, the thought to reason
Anarchy in though, the times found me a shown few
Anarchy in decision's, a guarantee of blinder moments
Anarchy in ascertainment, a host of wisdom to look at you

A yawn with no future...?
As shrewd as furious days make a prayer, a seclusion
Catching mine, in measure and deliberate other, is a cure
Forces in voices, and the rationality of mercy; loves only intrusion?

Psyche
Can I have my weight in gold, a tarter heaven?
So wished for, so washed of another fight...
With heaven, to remember succor in forms of resolve to come by, loving...

In tales of old, on Mount Olympus high,
Where gods and goddesses roamed the sky,
Aphrodite, fair and beauty's muse,
But whispers tell of a love confused.


In affairs of hearts, her charms renowned,
Yet rumors spread, a deceit profound.
Her love, a tapestry woven with desire,
Yet secrets whispered, fueled the fire.


A cheater in the game of divine affection,
Her heart's allegiance sparked introspection.
For Cupid's arrows, not always true,
In love's labyrinth, confusion grew.


To Ares, god of war, she turned her gaze,
A clandestine affair, a dangerous craze.
In the shadows of Mount Olympus, they conspired,
Love's flame illicit, yet never tired.


The gods above, in their celestial court,
Witnessed Aphrodite's love distort.
For in her quest for passion's sweet embrace,
She left behind a trail of love's disgrace.


But was she a cheater or victim of fate?
In the realm of gods, emotions intricate.
Aphrodite, tangled in love's intricate dance,
A celestial romance, a fateful circumstance.


So, in the pantheon's tales of divine deceit,
Aphrodite's story, in whispers, we repeat.
A goddess of love, entangled in desire,
A cheater or not, the myths conspire.

her body shines
and twinkles
under the moonlight.

her hair cascades
over the sheets
and into oblivion.

her hands bring forth
a beautiful melody
of pleasure
derived from pain.

back arching like the sunset
over the sparkling sea--

"come before me."

How does one free themselves of Aphrodite’s sly paradox of still loving the one who broke their heart ?

Love that preserves beyond the break
is a measure
of the authentic tether
felt by the depths of the heart.

Every conscious step I make
towards a new future, beyond the girl who
felt like a soulmate,
feels like the break
of a promise.

Pinky swear was the old charming mantra.

I move ahead.
Yet I still have to tread on the familiar grounds we once said
our I love yous.

Memory lane.

Sometimes I choose the painful path,
looking through pictures before Loves pain,
a consolation of sorts
to know it was real
and not that of a dream.

Romeo’s lips uttered dreams are nothing but vain fantasy,
but at least I have the memory.

The ghost of you follows me,
uninvited into my reverie
so vividly
no matter how hard I try to release the heartache of you and me.

I’ll keep trying,
until one day it becomes a fond reminiscent memory of what once was and no longer,
trudging through the graveyard
until the light brings fonder
and my heart may wander anew.

Her figure in my bed
relaxes, half obscured by silk sheets;
there’s a sweetness to her uncovered form,
not in a way that is ****** or arousing,
but for how it speaks of comfort in my presence
like we are so adapted to each other
that nothing is strange or foreign to us—
even the vulnerability of nakedness.

And like a goddess, she pulls me in to her chest,
a whisper of soft and beautiful flesh;
there, I imagine us as once born from the ocean,
with pearl strewn hearts and wanton eyes,
as goddess meets goddess among seafoam and silk.

my pretty darling,
aphrodite's beloved,
i will love you when slumber calls for my name
i will love you when the tangerine sun rises in the day
in-between minutes,
the fissures in seconds,
i love you in those intervals

My beloved April moon,
when the poets write ghazal
they are writing about you

The goddess of love,
Aphrodite,
cried when I told her
that you may leave

Her tears shedding
for you to stay,
like drops of Venus

Come back
For the goddess
of love’s sake,
come back

When I write a poem,
it is for you

Even if it does not
begin with love

You were to me what
Patroclus was to Achilles

What Aphrodite
was to Sappho

If I knew that one day
I will be apart from you,
I would have quietly chosen death

Can I be loved?
Or is it overrated.
Is self love enough?
Or am I walking on a thin rope, my eyes, shut closed, I may die in my misery, a façade of continuous joy.
Am I to be loved, in my embodiment of Aphrodite herself.
Maybe I am too closed off.
Or maybe I am too pure.
These contradictions are my addictions and I can never seem to pick between the two.
Maybe love is too good for me, like a curse that strings me to the depths of insanity where love cannot even be justified.
Maybe I am a monster in my drowning tears.
Or maybe, just maybe, I am juxtaposed.
Once they fall in love with me, they fear, run away like cowards with boneless spindles.
My walls so hard, can dynamite even be crushed?

To feel that feeling...
Sensual pleasures...
To hold, to actually feel...
I've lost meaning of the word.

Can I be loved? Or am I too powerful?