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.
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.
Like the waters in Greece, blue, succulent , tapered into viscous curves stay now, don’t leave. This sigh reinvents itself more warmly, sensing your departure.
Let me dream of it as you disappear, The bed with white linen reminding us of our flesh embellishing our existence. A touch is what remains etched on my eyes. Somehow now unseen, untouched.
What would the yellow kiss of sunlight greet? A smile made of dreams? Or dreams devoured off smiles. The plants exhale hues of tamarind, warm green tea succors the seperation, In my wake, I am next to a bottle of our emptiness. I should have drowned when you stared me last night.
The unknown are felt, With hands moving inside, Feeling the black bra, while your face turns red with joy of ecstacy. Everything turns to water, your lips below turn into a fountain of desire, and your legs closing with wetness. Waiting to be touched Waiting to be consumed Waiting to be felt