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.
You sit in the garden swinging to and fro, a shining sun brilliant yellow with warmth brightly painted oranges in your hand or are they tangerines? I do not know for I was not invited to this winter feast.
You sit with the others, peals of laughter, seeds of conversations leak into my room somehow. The pulp of the oranges dripping from your lips as you discard the peels dulled by time turning bitter and dry.
Let them fall to the dirty ground uncared for and unnecessary. I forget their existence, the sun and the warmth.
I remember us, the pulp stained lips and a thirst for never missing such feasts, where your eyes inch this close to me. where the breath turns citrus in unison.
Last night, I sojourned in the warm fields of cherry blossom, letting my silence convolve with the voiceless dreams.
I cried in a language, I never heard before. The memory of my voice absconds for a few days. Leaving only regretful notes, of unending sabbaticals.
Nature never speaks, I have observed. It just pours a volume of voices from its belly, into a pot full of colors, to melt and coalesce for our eyes to fathom in silence.
So the next time, we lie on the bed, don’t speak, just observe all of my colors as I trace the aching fan dying out above.
Whisper to me then gently, if you wish, of how does the grey mix in the volumes of smiles bright? And yet never turns loud enough for us to tremble and dissolve in one another, painting our silence into this unspeakable color of love.
Every ray of sunlight, is a drop of warmth melted by god’s eyes
You, a silver mirror, That can glitter my hand even in the darkness, as if a thousand ants enjoying a living feast, for their heart’s are as restless as a lover’s hunger for voice.
In my dreams, each night, Someone cleaves the sky with no voice. It becomes a darkroom where I fumble with trembling hands, my memories dipped in a pool of questions, like a photograph being developed in a room full of darkest red wines.
I wake up to a room devoid of light, wishing to be in a subway where no one cares for your existence if you have learned to forget your hands. I sleep wishing the subway leads to nowhere. A silence is a powerful noise, When shall our ears act like our eyes?