Holding your soft hands and dancing through sunrays around in circles as we smile and cherish each other's comfort through the loneliness in our hearts.
Golden hour peaks and you sing through my treasure chest filled with open treasures of golden honey, and that honey drips down the surface of my fingertips as we kiss each other in a warm gleam of freedom and surpass realms of stars and dreams.
The honey trickles our kisses and makes a sticky hot mess under the steaming sun as it begins to set through white fluffy clouds.
Feeling high like cloud 9
I want to feel your chest pressed against mine, forever and key it into a lock that cannot ever be undone.
I love you.

The memories we make feel like a never ending escape through Alcatraz.
A portal so clean and pure.

You are a haiku
written in the pages of
my poetic heart

2:07 AM
15/8/21

Magenta and Reds, Cerulean and Blues
Piano paint splashes the mind of the fool
And makes him create, mostly mistakes
When trying to illustrate his own point of view

Hopeless and Danceless, Broken Old Romantic
Wooden chair rocks him like a cradle for his ashes
And time doesn’t wait, for him only it fades
Stuck on the wake of waves perpetually crashing

Black Holes and Stars, Landmarks for Gods
He just sits and he orbits like a moon for his heart
Passing the days, a face for a frame
Symphony of flowers contrasting his rain

i feel you

in the pores

the air sneaks in -

like a skilled thief
enters and exits

trying-to-stop-a-pirouette-of-smoke

(i admire the wisdom of smoke)


dizzy

we can't find the heels

without noise

falls on its hind legs (like a horse) -

from right to left
we do our best,
we try -
on the tips, and again anew

first breath, second, third ...

last -

the sound of a trumpet falls in sourdine

lips-freeze-in-words -



we breathe in a traffic roundabout
the sleeping thoughts wake up in the corner of the eyes -
at the center
a statue is playing the statue game
in a flight -

we live in a bird that receives first aid breath -

is not in a hurry to live, nor to die,

(it is much more pleasant to breathe beak to beak) -

greedy pores
are waiting for an open lip
of the lion mouth flower

*

under the window, the spry rain cleans

is washing the leaves -

crumbs fall into the wet grass

opened pores

are breathing

the fresh morning air -

(déjà vu)

it smells like october

It hurts we were so close,
but got caught on the what ifs.
What hurts the most though,
is we were so ******* in each other arms
We forgot to break our fall

I wish I was a burning ball of gas ripping through the air,
so that you could look at me while I was up there,
and not be aware,
and not even care,
that you're the reason I left my body,
and shed my skin and other parts of it,
to become something so bare and rare and perfect and orange,
that you forgot to breathe when you came across it,
and you'd stand there with your chin up,
lip parted at the sky above,
wondering how God could've created with love,
but never explained its beauty to no one,
and I'd rip and twirl and burst and whirl,
before your eyes like shimmering pearl,
and you'd never know that I was just a girl,
who left herself to brighten your world.