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Showing posts from May, 2019

The Third Side

I am so lame and insane I give up my defenses and bruises

Gift

I gift her shampoos, whole wheat flour, soaps and instant oats pencils and home food not porcelain mugs, vases or bouquet of fancy candies nor DVDs or moonlit nights
it is my way of saying something that something is yet unknown to me or to my mind the word “something” is limiting “everything” has unlimited exposition
she brings the gift of selfies with a face full of pain and tears much more than this she gifts me unlimited horizons of laughing over situations that are gifted to us
she likes those gifts or that’s what she says she gives me love (not a cliché) of the kind that’s unimaginable

Verve

Flushed skin  when the charm uplifts when she touches new spark of naivety The caress of triviality is not something she raves about or tracing the DNA of her passions she doesn't care for the lyrics or the music she unravels the deep trance of her passion the drunkard lover the curious seducer she does not fight back her emotions or rawness of a deep touch she translates the language of  trespassing in her intimate monologues as her own self she is pristine out of the fresh sunshine, into the wild her walk, her inconsistent chivalry her demands, her concupiscence  it is not she but the verve I desire her as she wants me to femme passionnée
Play the music to accompany the thoughts of the poem by clicking here

Bougainvillea

Truth be told I do not necessarily love or trust flowers They become a poignant humming song for my poetry that is delusionary as it is emerging out of my love for you
Few steps aside, there is a bloom let me say it this way on one side they bloom and sell me the free fragrance on the other side of this road is this tiny foliage of the greens and some signs of a lost lake and I see you with a perpetual freshness
A music plays somewhere It sounds cliche I mean the music It is warm and seemingly romantic but you look at the flowers and feel safe a look of naivety of love and I know your heart
It is you that I cherish not because the bougainvillea has bloomed your silent smile fleeces my heart and the flowers, well let us smell the air, for now