He touched her in a way that
filled her, making her feel
as though she would explode
into a million pieces of paper
confetti.
Then he kissed her —
ever so gently —
causing her to release
a sigh as soft as a
feather.
And as he turned to leave
and descended the stairs,
she floated into the night
on an infinite sky,
sprinkled with tiny bubbles.
in the bed of the grapevine I fall and I sleep together
by coincidence recollecting idols of visiting women
sexual tonalities of loving memory of broken leaves
grapes and wine and coloured limbs
seen as veins metaphors of spirals wants
intoxicated Dionysian measuring loneliness
of absent paths soft brown body sand-coloured
their secret or line of surf a fragrant touch
besieged as the stem in the sea of flowers
bands of wishes like a vanishing point
hiding in her bosom a heart of jasmine
And those who love women only
to someone who’s dreaming blind
they collapse into a new form of egoism
the I, becoming her is mere alter ego
viewed one single scene of dragonflies
i construct these scenes in the hill of bees and wine
Dream horses into the opium of sleep
an avalanche of motion
killed by the painted sky
back to you sarcokisses
i am falling from the clouds
wings shrouded in blue
the darkened sand of the breaking wave
eludes me revealing the boundless plain.
deeply immersed in your bed of linen
i am vanishing demolished
bodies skinned as epiphanies
until the great storms of nightmare
down the gentle slope .. till i do not exist
Mystic
breaths
of sea-scent
a soft sand
fluttering
and the moon sinks
into the depths
of my hidden veins
If you see metaphors
to bloom like
a path into the mirror’s reflection
is my drops of blood
that crafts shining leaves
blossomed at night
when I close my eyes
as the wind blows away my mind
gothic angels live in the wind
their hearts empty in cathedral domes
with company of oblique curved devils
in a glass menagerie
with rosemary flowers on their hair
eyes of moon -glow of cursed opals
and bloodstones
untouched and pure emerald golden
passionless bodies ethereal of fallen angels
with mirages of rainbows
i write my next poem on their skin
rubbing their bones gently
their carnal fields so full of light
but in darkness they have no elegance
only monotonous absence
of endless naked breath of desire
that sweep across of my gothic soul
the rain arrowing their ascetic mountain
wind, wind, their enemy of floral still life
of butterscotch and thyme
the other blue pale and white wind
strips the tear of fields that are rolling
angels and devils shadows of pure beings
and i an illuminated soul to the road of ecstacy