Your thoughts crash like thunder, a cacophony of pain, swept away
by the tempest waves of your hair; how ironic it is that men gaze
upon women’s ******* as if they were an oasis in a parched desert.
They possess a strength akin to mountains, while the valley of your
tears floods my vision. Within your form lies the purest fulfilment,
resonating through your very bones; how swiftly it transforms into
verses etched with sharp precision.

Our flesh and spirit coexist, yet they remain eternally apart – we
chase satisfaction in the simplest of joys, our spirits yearning for the
heavens, while the flesh craves a taste of heaven through one hell of
a life. With a gentle gaze, your lips ignite a wildfire, taming nothing
but the primal instincts you believe you have tamed.

The thirst for love flutters like a hummingbird, sipping from a nectar
we cannot measure, unaware of how it nourishes us or for how long.
I oscillate between life’s most profound moments – for human
pleasure demands no concentration, only the act of losing oneself
in the moment. Self-control is the very essence of that focus – yet
how swiftly our thoughts become dulled in the enigma of life.

                                            Everything is just an enigma in the end.

_

She says I...
should treat her like a masterpiece of art,
And I’d be a fool to not get the fuller picture;

I might linger by her side, yet my position
remains a mystery, akin to a Khaled feature.

She hides behind her smile;
that’s a kaleidoscope of emotions—perceptual,
asymmetrical, mixed signals with her eyes –
okay, I think I got the picture; “she is a living
Mona Lisa;” yet, she remains to me,
an enigma.

My solitary self came wrapped in blankets
Searching for answers in murky clouds
Illusions shattered
The answer came in darkness
In peaceful awakening
A mystical enigma fills my soul with wonder
And I am never the same

Letting the ivy roam...
Moonlight serenade, to a begun favor:
Sense in a gentler breeze, the thought to own
A grace, a fastidious space, for a little face...

Pink, the through and due, irony we seldom
Stink and prosper, the alienation we souled?
Together in legend, we tell a tale to a God's question:
Letting the ivy see, is a redress of futures, fools?

Paces and setting a catch, of futures in the light?
A wavering kiss, and the doles of redemption
Have their solemn kin, taken to remembering a night?
My name is a person, order and truth, to another selection...

Of hearts or the ivy...
Spare to fore, we conceive a notion
Made to tailor, a secret, an irony sighed...
Like the bird it was, a concern that lead to devotion...

Ivy sleeps, shadows play...
In the breeds we assume are, the peace of decency...
That has awoken, and seen the sun come, for why...?
Persuade a kind from dread, our fruit is a gift of agony...?

Building halts; continuing salt...
When has a legend presumed finish, of soon's reasons?
The tow of exception, is a wind to defer to a copious fall?
Looking ivy in the eye, asking nix for not, a needs seasons?

The fight is brutal, letting ivy is like a breath between friends
Aching at the completed hour, the duty of they and strange smiles
Set in similar pasts to a redefining must, that only with help, lends
A role no greater than now, a whisper that ended a world's defiled?

Ivy wants your life for a silence...
Ivy has the stomach to turn direction into beauty...
Ivy seemingly aloof, to worth to realize a gift is fast, to the chin...
Ivy knows you, like a taken privilege on the other side of saying we...