A thought of you crosses my mind
never knew it would treat
my midday blues that wild.
Banished it in a blink of an eye
in less than a swift mo
the rose sway at the first light.

The day was long though
but gone before the rainbow
touches the butterfly.

Scurried to the night
back into the half veiled Niqab.
The waxing moon is on the open half
down the far-fetched sun's half eye.

When will you come by
before my eyes?

If you had diarrhoea
got caught short, took a ****
in that drawer where you keep all your cables
and bits tangled vociferously
then later discovered you needed
a spare micro usb,
so you had no choice
but to roll up your sleeves,
that would be this Monday

When the wrong fire's in your belly,
when it rages in the dead of day,
when it leaves you cold and empty -

that's then you long for ashes,
for an end to the flagrant flames,
for tears in their rightful lashes.

That's then you crave kin and friends,
voices of long affection,
words of kindness and remembrance.

When the wrong fire's in your belly,
that's then you need a fresh flame.

i will see you, my love
soon
i will see you in a windless country, in a thoughtless world,
with swords, we”ll cut off all roads in the air, from the earth
with our eyes, we”ll dress them up  in feathers of rio abre-alas,
open wings
one day soon, in the valley on the farm
seduced by the dry edge of the grass
crushed under the earth furrow we”ll forget about ourselves,
we”ll fall like a snow belt in the winter, slow, slow,
lazy to get lost in goosebumps, yellow,
create and raw, soon
the sun will call us to a world where love is truly blind
and deaf,
and mute,
and putrefied like an old woman,
older than stone,  birds, air
water
red angels, maybe one day soon
soon
our love will be easy,
so eeeeeeeasy
as easy as blue cheese mold on the tongue,
like a blues that is digging our thirst at night
like a lip gloss broken with a pointed nose,
warm, soft *******, sweet steam resting on the needles of time
caressed by two strands asleep in the stillness of white *******,
milk carved in palm lines,
hungry orphans,
beggars built in the breath of your chest, we will die
we will die, one day soon
and, you”ll come again with your forehead up, your swaying walk,
oh, your swaying walk, no eyes, no air
it will be easy to bite your lips
touch your hard beard
in a distant world where there are no storms
no thoughts
one day soon, one day
maybe

Let nostalgia and what-ifs,
Should-of, would-of, and could-of,
Be no longer curses, but gifts,
Not the pain of loss, but the memory of love.

Let the years seem kind in their passing,
Let me revel not in the present but celebrate in giving,
In helping, in loving, in laughing,
Not just one closer to death but another year of living.

Let these words ease angst,
And soothe long-suffering sorrow,
Let the past be wreathed in lights, not pains,
Not days passed but another chance at tomorrow.

Today I've decided I've outgrown these tears,
I'm yet younger than the mirrors wrinkled clues,
So here's wishing you all the best of my years,
With a wink of these birthday blues.