i.
I imagine the lemon sun rays
Beaming on the fronts of my eyelids;
An illusion, an iridescent glow
Forms around my wandering mind.

Ii.
The careless waves floated in
An orange peculiar pattern.
I reach;
Calling the name of my prospect.

Iii.
A hollow echo, the end of a passage
revealed in the saturated aura;
Crimson tangerine amber cobalt indigo
bleeding into a soft ivory

Iv.
The days soon return their structure
Beckoning my name in the breeze
Opening my eyes from the somber dusk,
Unlocking the ebullience from the earth.

In the bleakest sorrows,
you bring graceful elegance.

Maroon feathers catching upon
vacant scenery, stilled by seasons.

Rowan do your eyes attended to,
feasting on luscious  berries.

A wonderer of the skies dancing upon
flurries looking for your next meal.

when the falling rain drops
generated purple music
and last rays of evening sun
painted the clouds crimson,
she felt nothing but blue !!

Have you ever had one of those Astral Weeks?
Asks the man with sunshine in his eyes,
It was all looking a little bleak
Before finding another one of those highs
Let it flow, let it go? Let us listen to the slow river speak:

-“There has not been for a long time a spring
as beautiful as this one; the grass, just before mowing,
is thick and wet with dew. At night bird cries come up from the edge of the marsh, a crimson shoal lies in the east till the morning hours.”

Flowing through those undercurrents:
Under a sky filled with towering cumulonimbus,
The chill of a long, long night always nipping, now slipping
Maybe, it is a simple reminder,
To go out and find her,
As I long just to hold her tight.

And the slow river speaks:

“The gates of the earth torn open, the key
to the earth revealed. A star is greeting the day.”

Awaken Trickster, bring on the nefarious and teach
us to laugh gregarious-
ly at the shames we allow others to install
deep in our sub
ordinates, can’t figure out these coordinates. Where
are those landmarks that will guide me back.
Earth dividing, plates colliding. The thrombosis
compells me to dive yet a little deeper. More pressure, I hope,
will let me see a little clearer. And mitosis: the warrior is there
and always has been: my impeccable self. Maybe I am
a little closer to filling this vessel

And the train whistle blows

Do not let it pull you under
these currents, that thunder, or maybe don’t fight it
alight it
let your soul and spirit and fly

Have you ever had one of those astral weeks?
I ask as I look at the sunshine in my eyes, I think
it was all looking a little bleak
before finding another one of those highs

Let it flow, let it go, let the slow river speak:

-“Three times must the wheel of blindness
turn, before I look without fear at the power
sleeping in my own hand, and recognize spring,
the sky, the seas, and the dark, massed land.”

Welcome to my castle
as we flow out of the mystic

There was a rainbow of droplets
collecting momentarily in air.
So much beauty in discomfort,
not mine that of another, dead.

He was on the gravel, in a sorrowful
position, he was and then was less.
his thoughts collecting on the further
reaches of the rooms décor.

I didn't want to play the role of the
villain, I was the mercy he had needed.
Fading like a flower transparent of
colour himself fading to nothingness.

I was but a consequence his hand was
on the point of no return. I said
"I'll do it from behind so you don't see,
But his head nodded in haste, as tears fell.

I hadn't take a sip all week, I just knelt
before him his finger painting a vivid
moment of thought, captured later in
solidifying crimson metaphors.

We sat there for what seemed eternity.
Stars had faded in the time of these moments
extinguished within his tears, he spoke on word.
"Thank you, an echo then silence, I walked away.

The sunset imbues its last glance
as molten lavas cool into exotic crimson
painting the colour of romance on the seabed.
What glance did you cast?
Stunned moon turns up a notch,
keeps looking over the ocean,
yet to drink a drop!
Ah, holy smoke,
what did you drop?

my body had too many bruises
after loving you.
saltwater soaked scars
and red soaked into my bedroom floor.
i struggled to make my blood look pretty for you,
as it marked streams of crimson down my body.
you said my bruises looked like constellations
you called them beautiful
compared them to the cosmos

i just thought they were different.
something you can't always see,
but always crave to.
i said: “the stars are collapsing. can’t you hear?”
you placed your hand on mine and spoke,
their screams are why i sleep with the window locked shut each night.
their screams are why

i've kept you locked inside.

and i am not sorry for that.

you're flaming. little specks of crimson burn like fire in your heart. your physique melts like *** on a fire and sparks of amber make you glow like a candle in the darkness. magenta lines cross your lips and your skin mocks the setting street lamps and the burning sun.

you're a mountain to me. dwarfing cities below you with peaks that stride above the heavens, attempting to graze the planets if even so slightly.

you are worth becoming the enemy of hell. you are worth every friend you've ever lost to file yourself. you are worth it, because i've never met anyone who loves as perfectly and passionately as you.

Garnet lanterns delve before ones
            static existence,
                      are the motions really ceased
or does life whisper mutely in exhaled melodies....