touch

by
with some stubbornly persistent illusion,
wise and adequate, manipulated by you,
a known unknown creature, who adores
to be felt where unpredictability exists to
play and serve simultaneously, my smile,
pardoned in a delightful glass with tricky
liquor, created meticulously to touch you
at a present mind's hour, taken over from
one of the pasts led to one of the futures,
it's our universe that looks synonymous
with some stubbornly persistent... illusion

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

an illusion of a longing lost, kept hostage
on the groans of a blues, playing its thrills
at a carafe, haunted by disinterestedness,
but which has the ghostly love's promises
glorified on an astral rug plaited with stars
and the prophecy of the sun and the moon
guarded by spirits of the seas and oceans
to not get swarmed by the lie of happiness
that has its address in the forest of hopes
and where our thought is walking its game,
...an illusion of a longing lost, kept hostage

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