float sublimely, for there is no ground beneath the toes today. The white verandah delves a sight as you move untouched eclipsed by warm fingertips. the water shall soon forget itself, it has no memory of your existence.
White voids and bright wine. melanchony’s cocktail : a melodious blur beneath a bright but dusty chandelier, We have nothing to break our silence escaped through the white windows.
we retire, listening to the winds and sipping some wine, rehearsing our exits from one-another, our exits from ourselves, our exits from our pasts.
It had just rained last night. You called me twice You came to my garden in that linen white shirt 2 in the night. The ground was wet, will stones blooming and cursing our toes. The plants were drenched in a smell of petrichor. You should not have wore the white shirt and shown me those breasts wet and erect. Our lips drew wars for blood, the tongues wrestled for saliva and hands traced every inch. We forgot the stones, as if pain was an asylum those were not the leisurely moans, I felt the trembling back but you hands made me swallow.
A bite on the bosoms and you turned into an animal, taking my hands inside the shirt Neighbours were asleep, they wish they wouldn’t. My hands helped you with touch as you stroked me so well,the hands moving over the warm breasts, turned cold and wet from the rain The touch moves as you let out a moan.
The tongue is heartless servant, it slithers on your neck and lips, like a snake devoid of warm flesh, I feel the warmth and the tremble in cleavage, but I am cursed as in Eden.
It smothers the bra slowly, peeking within with satanic eyes, the warmth is a thirst for a thing made of out flesh, it multiples while inside, caressing, pressing, Disappearing with eyes, Your breath is a kiss of blaze burning and I was a winter worth nurturing with hands choking my existence
The breasts caressed slowly, into a tumultuous moment of touch, I trace the tips to its origin, feeling them erect and ready for to pleased, unhook now and lie down, let me taste the eden before being banished forever.
Confetti of romance showers over me; The caress of silk arouses me as I lay in blooms of fantasy; Clothed in robes of rose petals.
Blossoming lips of pink yearn to be kissed, to be watered by wanton lust, to feel the thorny tongue thrust,. Trace the thorns down my neck, cause my stem to shiver with delight, grow the passion tonight. Petals rest upon supple breast, smooth and yielding to feathered fingertips, sweet to hungry lips.
Confetti blanketing my nakedness Blow them away to expose my womanliness Unrobed of rose petals.
Panting and moaning in a state of bliss, under the command of your kiss, wildly in column as your tongue enters the heavenly abyss. Pleasure overwhelmingly intense, as frolicsome body arched in suspense, legs tremble at as the lusting grow too immense. “More, More” I scream and plead, of the aching, pining, perishing need. Satisfy my ravenous greed.
Confetti of wantonness scattered in disarray; As I dance my intimate ballet, my sweat my new perfume, fresh bouquet; Bereft of rose petals.
Petals strewed upon the bed, kaleidoscope of pink and red, as legs further spread. Fingers grasp at your hair, pushing you ever near, melted into his sizzling affaire. Taste the bittersweet of my sex, higher my breasts convex as I become closer, ever closer to my apex. Pussy atingle so good it hurts, at talented tongues good work, I explode like a firework
the moss by the window grows up presumptuous contentment ferments itself. This air is magically much lighter today I remember this forgotten dream where each rain drop becomes a spiraling sigh of someone I knew.
Searching for my heart, I scramble in linen white bedsheets, my eyes rummage the room for a mirror for this face must be a void : an artist’s regretful hallucination a dreamer’s revered loss.
We smile the best, when the mind’s eye forgets the face.
I should settle for a second slumber to grin like a Cheshire cat, the sky turns murderous grey a lovely occasion? Isn’t it?
Listen to me as one listens to the rain, not attentive, not distracted, light footsteps, thin drizzle, water that is air, air that is time, The day is still leaving the night has yet to arrive, figurations of mist at the turn of the corner, figurations of time at the bend in this pause, listen to me as one listens to the rain, without listening, hear what I say with eyes open inward, asleep with all five senses awake, it’s raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables.
air and water, words with no weight: what we are and are, the days and years, this moment, weightless time and heavy sorrow, listen to me as one listens to the rain, wet asphalt is shining, steam rises and walks away, night unfolds and looks at me, you are you and your body of steam, you and your face of night, you and your hair, unhurried lightning, you cross the street and enter my forehead, footsteps of water across my eyes, listen to me as one listens to the rain,
Writings to Heaven 