She lays on the hill
between heaven and hell
and ponders
the valley's
name.

I know her name
like she is the air I breathe
the stardust in my veins
the wonder in my eyes.

Let me sketch you

With words

I will frame

Your body

With descriptions

Of the way

I view you

Ignore all the definitions

The world

Placed on your shoulders

Recreate a language

Using your name

As the beginning

So you can relish

The sound of every letter

Learn to adore

The sound of every vowel

Then maybe your reflection

Will become more within your eyes

Sparks, electricity
And we light up the city
Dancing along the streets
Passion is a conversation
We continue to have
With coffee afterthoughts
Our words collect like steam
Upon our eyes
And I can’t help myself
From nibbling on your name

One shoelace

a few bolts

ticket stubs

a half of a picture

souvenir key chain from Florida

fragments

of him

tiny ghosts

tucked in the corners

so I always find him

never quite

let him go

always reappearing

clinging on to my skin

leaving the residue of his name

At a governmental or another fancy door
Asked again who I am to call,
For my name, affiliation through and fro,
Who am I worth enough to stand at all.

As I bask in my glance and walking tall,
Asked for ID I tear it all,
With the shoes thrown off
And Mind elegantly deformed
I ravish how they eyes are stupefied, so lost

Well, seeming Madam/Sir,
No letter or phone shall make me up,
No telling shall ever be enough
to push all the liquids of senses, acts
from before my eyes
to your lips’ or ears’ sight,
Yet to have it done already
I’ll try to muster an answer
of that measly form,
So on a silent yet like jazz smooth
rampage I go:

I, am,
Immortal Poetry,
Of greater feverishness than a human kiss,
That even I can’t deprive myself of.
I have no restricted name,
Age or body & its ***.

I am eternal pilgrim on that soil,
With my place in My Lover high above,
With no human maternal language.
A Dreamweaver,
Novel,
Sensation in a melody,
Howling Nighty-Starry Wind.

All the gazes & chases I made in my books,
All longings & katharsi of mine.
Un Alma Perdida de ojos y pelo dorados
Que extraña su justo hogar entre versos,
Hierba y estrellas.

A prologue and an epilogue,
C-major on a private, broken guitar string,
Haze, blur in your mind.
The stars I barely see,
My ****** of skin,
And stern eyes of love-arousing passing-by
among the beasts of your kin.

I. Am. I.
For now so much to add,
Now, seeming Sir/Madam,
I’ll let myself pass by