Chilly August night
with fog, mist, rain, and wet ghosts:
     sleepwriting haiku.

When they offer you olives,
Rip the branch from their hands
And beat the fruit off.
The soil is ripe,
Right is might;
Who cares for leaves & petals to fall?

You drowned me in a whirlpool of emotions, engulfing
me in the exhilarating sensations of falling in love.
It felt so vivid, like stepping into another realm of
consciousness where the boundaries between reality and
fantasy blur.

Perhaps, it could have been yet another *******, an
intoxicating experience that thrived in the depths of
my subconscious. And amidst this haze of desire,
life appears like a pristine white sheet, evoking a sense of
responsibility to keep it unsullied and untarnished.

Like a diligent custodian, I struggle to navigate the
complexities and challenges that threaten to soil its
purity, to maintain its pristine condition.

Ducks wrestle doubly
Wet from rain and river flow;
As above…qua-a-ack…so below.

Treat as royalty with my broken crown,
pull away veils, could I not see your open
love,

Your heart amongst empty chests in the
crowd,
would you only notice me when I'm not
around,
Wish to hear me when there’s not a single
sound,
you only seemed lost when there was nothing you
found,

Act high on your thrills in a lifestyle so upside
down,
a pound of flesh, a pack of thoughts, and a bag of
****,

Every time you sleep, you’re taking that leap,
another risk; whether this time to wake up from
that dream,

Eyes wet, waking up from ocean dreams,
I hope your parents taught you well how to
swim,

In so deep, in murky waters,
as all you’re doing is looking for surface under
your feet.

But the sands also sink,
trying not to shut your eyes, so you constantly
blink.

Insomnia is keen to grinning,
smiling on all the chances of stealing your
sleep.

I’m so weak; for not being your shore
inside of all those tempestuous dreams.

a soft breeze, waves lapping against the shore

circling around and around, every time learning something new

an exploration of self; a journey of pleasure

sweet caress

wet, wet, wet

it's like the tide is whispering to me

release

a moan like a sigh of relief

there is no shame here

only love <3

Pat, pat, pat—a constant rhythm as the raindrops collide against her umbrella, shielding her like a knight from countless tiny foes. She goes about her day, a bouquet of vibrant flowers picked along her travels cradled in her arms, whispering sweet nothings to herself.

It’s the details she longs to capture and hold forever. She examines the delicate wet spot on a petal, magnifying each perfect imperfection—the subtle curves, the soft hues—because in that reflection, she sees herself, and there’s beauty in that too.

may we have some nicer weather please?
At least some sunnier days than these!
It's been so cold and unbelievably wet,
it's horrid enough to get upset.
It's a bit like April but in reverse,
instead of better it's getting worse.
Can't make any plans to go outside
for a short walk or bicycle ride.
Whenever I get ready to leave the house,
heaven looks like I'm in for a douse.
Sometimes I go out in spite
and realize I'm not watertight.
Then I get drenched to the bone,
it even destroys my mobile phone.
Worse yet after it's been warm,
the sky rips open a nasty thunderstorm.
That's the part when danger lurks
with thunder lightning and the works.
Because holding up an umbrella
can sometimes torch a poor fella.
But wait, before I get into hail,
earthly tempests like heavy gale,
tornados, hurricanes and the likes.
It's definitely not worth it, yikes!
Instead of giving myself a permanent frown,
I put the kettle on and try piping down.

Blue velvet flowers
born prisoners in the window
listen to your delicious
candy secrets and
breath them to the universe

You are haunted by
perfume and concrete
slow, lingering kisses
and the salt of her
soft wet lips