A red sky,
dissolves in blue
the sun’s hue
turns to a dripped nectar.
The leaves do not wither,
The soil is never dry.
The air smells like
someone I knew,
It was a dream,
too good to be true.
Eden
Tag Archives: feelings
Part One
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.
Unforgetting
I swallow a room in my mind,
to digest its origins.
Its woodwork churns and mollifies,
I could feel my fingers full of sawdust and laughter,
lost handprints(possible mine), from the dying
furniture and the floor caress my head.
You will always find a way to meet yourself,
once you are forgotten by everyone.
The lights are turning dim,
I do not know, how to serve light in a tall glass for myself?
Can you teach my fist to hold sands of darkness?
I shall learn somehow, to sprinkle when necessary.
You can learn anything, you want.
But remember to put off the light in the end.
The garden screams with its emptiness,
and my eyes could bear the shrieks.
Is this is how I forget your touch?
Without music? Without sleep?
Heartless
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.
Moonlight
you are most beautiful
when you sleep–
when the coffee-toned notes of your skin
brew, a silent language
while your perfect lips are too tired to doubt my eyes
now, the dark mist of your breath
trickles down my neck
I wait,
I stare at you
unwaveringly.
outside there is a trail of rain,
and the wind
in the willow cage
whispers
as if it dares to tell
the moon and
all the listening night
that this silverlight should not
touch you, in front of me.
Writings to Heaven 