Her eyes practice to perfect the visual language of desire,
his lips are ever eager to munch the sweetness of her words,
her  limbs, vines in need of a trunk to climb, eyes his chiseled torso
the waves of intense desire, he feels,  lashing against his heart seeking her.

February: the North wind cold and raw  
mother nature glum -like  an  old  macaw

My rose buds pots all blanket with snow  
lowering their heads -  like an old macaw

icy roads  treacherous conditions  is
like avoiding the nest _like  old  macaw

I rather stay indoors write a ghazals
Days without sunshine to thawed - like old macaw

I am all coop in like the Snow Queen bee
Singing freedom songs _like an old macaw

How I adore your nerve
when you kissed me in your closet upon sheets made of legos
and all of your childhood dreams.
How easy I am for you to draw when you play on stage the song that you wrote me,
The one that feels like rock climbing by the river,
Like naps in the summer when I drool on your chest and you don't mind,
Like kissing you until the very last minute of my curfew,
only to break it for the miracle that is your lips.
How alluring is your breath on my neck,
Your voice in my ear when you told me that you loved me
and you didn't stop smiling,
even as the years went by and I did.
How I craved, longed, begged for time to be still
the time you took me to the highest hill you could drive to,
You called it my mountain.
"At first, you look at it and it's so small,
but once you notice it, it's all you can see," you said.
How my stomach floods with waves of nostalgia and a taste
of everything I've ever had to live without,
With complete and utter spell-binded devotion at the simple familiarity
of your smell.
How addicted I am to your laugh when you're happy and
the mastered impression you do of your mom.
How weak I am to your intellect and your appreciation of literature
and real music,
Your enthusiasm for art and the "name that note" game you force upon me
as you stumble onto the classical radio station.
How in love I am with your romance that is as childish as my attachment
to my baby blankie and my mother's childhood walrus that you never ceased to insult.
Our pajama day that we decided over our prom,
When we turned on John Mayer and slow danced in your room.
Your idea of a date consisted of fake wine and me.
How incredibly warm are the coldest of nights,
On the side of your dirt road as we lie in the snow that is too cold for comfort,
yet holds us there with the fear that one day will not look the same as this one
and I would bear any amount of cold winter to keep one more moment of yours.
How I cherish the way you latch my pinky with yours when we walk
And the face you don't know you make when you play guitar.
The rooftop where you kissed me for the very first time and the string rings
we wore to remind each other we were still there.
How incredibly and unfortunately devout I am to all that I remember of you.

On this night,
my heart forgot to stop loving you.

With star dusted verse and milky way melody,
I sang to you a jasmine scented lullaby.
Through crescent waves of moonbeam,
I breathed my lavender love into your dream.

In the morning when you wake, will you feel me there,
as sunlight, streaming through your sleep damp hair?


Mine is the heart that forgot to stop loving you.
Yours, the heart that could not remember to begin.

With my hands around you, I slept,
and drempt we acquired wings,
flew up hovered above the clouds,
followed the white storkes that seek
far away lands that are still warm.
Sky was the world we always eyed
as we wanted to live closer to it
with the wonder remaining undiminished,
we noticed the white clouds turn pink
flew above the extended meadows of clouds,
saw they change colors as time
travels with sun, then moon appears,
making us feel we need to drink
the milk she graciously sheds all over the world.

Now, we went closer to the valley of night
and heard rounds of gun fire unawares,
unmistakable smell of blood followed,
war cries heard aloud, followed by the cry of wounded people.
you were frightened and lamented,
like a dove in distress,"Why did we fly?
could have contented with what we have,
look at the humans, they ****
and feel happy that they could ****
the other person, fantastic!
but why don't they see,
that they shoot themselves, not others.
I hate this though we inhabit a world beautiful.
but who gives his whole being to beauty?
and just love one another, see that we are not separate!"

I woke up with my hands around you,
and found there was distress in your face,
wasn't it yet another bad dream, I wonder,
It's past midnight, but the gunshot, I heard-
still resounds outside,
      I can't sleep any more...