drive

by
even now, your thoughts give
glitter to my air, scratching
with free verses, some deeds,
where once, we allowed us
to paint strategically, our word
with tints rooted in our drive

poetic audience

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my love is your love

by
i asked my dreams if they have any news about you… (none of them knew anything) i asked my dreams if you even exist somewhere, truly… (all of 'em woven you in music's tang) i asked my dreams if analogically, my love is your love… (instantly, every dream fell asleep)
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she likes to hide

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sometimes she screams so mighty that even earplugs of the sky are useless… but sometimes she likes to hide through silences where someone's thought caresses her wet lashes and it bandages her sadness with kisses… enough to remind her, — (she's loved)
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keep me close

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I fed your anemia with the blood of my sun so you not to be in the darkness anymore calm, I changed any change of the moon to write to you the melodies of my soul delicately, I kissed the lips of your stars for you to compile me in infinite texts I smoothed your mind with the petals of my galaxy to caress your moments I bit tenderly the questions of your eyes for you to keep me close with your love my supreme sin is called hope, and hope slips thru your dreams to make your life sweet
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battle scars and broken hearts

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you and I are writing different stuff at unpredictable intervals of time; the experiment looks like a temperamentalish naked poetry; on the other hand, in very deed,  hunts a humor's  sense that  dissects  our mood; it's life's pulse we trapped in its battle scars and broken hearts; it's our dark sky of winter's leisurely, crystallized by drones' foam; it's a wish degree pulverizing oneness, to affect today our atoms' thrill; it's a hug and kiss, sent and caught, (nervelessly), (for love shrills us both);
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rain pours

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you didn't care if it will ever rain as long as it didn't rain with love ‧ because of this, I gave you rain, architected, carved, portrayed, till I turned myself into a rain, into a storm... into a hurricane ‧ a typhoon I became for you daily, with my rain of stars dreaming, with my rain of laughs kissing, with my rain of longings blowing on you, exactly as the rain pours, for no one loved me like you do
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watermelon sugar

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in the breath of a buoyant thought, your traces which caressed me softly, are bulldozing now, bestial mirages 𓇼 you walled me in watermelon sugar to look like an altar, where you love to kneel, sniffing thru my laced hints 𓇼 even your oceans gasp inside me, using thrilling brutality of a butterfly, woven with the litany of your teeth
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disappointed

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How many "so-called friends", do you have‽ Did you even try to buy them? Did you care? Did you hear their palaver? When d'you knew that by gazing in their eyes, they'll go away? ⋯·⋯ Will they go away in the claws of their own sigh, inhaling and exhaling their own hate's whisper, wrapped in a silent shout, on the route to hell, at the disappointing call hour of a hungry moon? ⋯·⋯hmm… At the disappointing call hour of a hungry moon, I saw night's finger migrating on the sun eyelid, too determined to find out the loners' unhappiness. All were attired in the garment of lovelessness.
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yum

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in the spatial pub of a dream, your time reserved the table, — music; the crystalline gestures of us are orchestrating the main menu; we taste a smile, but dessert winks at us, pushing the moment into a yum ambiance; we're admired by a hug and a kiss which do pirouettes on poetry's floor (...in the spatial pub of a dream)
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exploding

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like a waterproof lipstick, i'm carried on your dreams' lips... everywhere... i'm exploding with savor, — i'm the marvel alchemy you long for... and my love for you is chic... sits tight hidden in plain sight... everybody sees it... but, — nobody knows what or who you are... not even you, the mystic one who hums my name each day and night so... who's the liar... what's the lie, — the love... or what i hide...
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so strange

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shines the whispers' lights, like dawn's beads, festooning promptly, love's echo, seduced and flung out from the neck of the sun's first thrill poeticized by the zenith of an endless longing thru a window's fissure of dreams' kitchenette sings chic, the thoughts in the mind's boudoir, using decency's taste, anointed in sin's crème, fine impregnated in a strawberry aroma's tale and cherry, adorned in tiny champagne collars thru an enamored soul consumed with desire dance the words on the canvas of the feelings adjusted by the contour of eyes' colors palette, like dawn's beads shine in the whispers' lights, like the thoughts sing thru the mind's boudoir, like the words dance on the canvas of feelings thru a shining Monday to rouse Tuesday's voice while Wednesday, so strange, allures the mood because Thursday's a hot comrade of the Friday that incites Saturday to inspire Sunday's dream to be, chic while you kiss me in fin...
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