Romance

Sometimes you are blinded by the colour of my veins

because there is no shame in my nudity, it takes your vision

for a planetary trip. Painting one another in body and mind,

our noises and vision so solitary, so retrospective, so reactive,

it blew our covers into powder, our pillows bombarded with

exploding heads and our tails counting on tightly clasped afternoons.

The walls know our odour of mixed existence and the roof

has stopped our harmony from reaching the streets.

A cluster of notes that drips from each vibration is an experience

that inspires life, the birth of a belief.

Slow

My vision was never restricted by a frame.

I've travelled minds and I've covered layers, but

there is no place like the centre of my earth,

very moist with your existence. Each day I

circle it, dancing to the decreasing radius.

The seasons get me drunk, in the viciousness

of our cycle, a myth of lost love.

We've thrown our clocks away, walked through the same dream.

I drink shadows, in the slow poison of

our hidden era, but my glasses never complain

beyond my sensibilities.

Detachment

Detachment helps to draw a line,

the corners keep on spilling blood.

How fingers entwined in a sad creeper

stay lukewarm is the same story.

Detachment must be celebrated

in the night of thousand memories,

where forced into forgetting

each night repeats a night in itself.

Detachment transcends fatigue.

Its rhythm cuts hearts out of wood.

Sprinkling elixir in the noise of cutting,

love, lingering and sawdust.

object of love

Sometimes, he lives me more than I live my days.

I watch how he watches my mind of washed pebbles,

Of leaves and canopies,

Falling like feathers, from ancient trees.

He unfolds me, a creased paper.

Makes boats out of wasted moments.

Soon his room has a pyramid of paper boats.

These days he makes shadows out of my eyelids.

liquid

They say my love is liquid.

Translucent at places.

The rainbow floating up its bottleneck

trembles with the lamp of thousand flames.

Stories you have wept with me, mountains we have broken together.

Yet fluid and fast, it spreads like the Nile.

One solitary life is never enough to make its corner still.

It flows down your virgin throat,

revisiting what was left of our hammered evenings together.

filling blanks

left them behind ,

the anecdotes that matched up to our cautious sensibilities.

dusty mornings withered away with green table tops.

looking through the glass palette, stories furnished to be served hot.

humming outdated tunes, your mouth has fallen short of mine for ages.

I still wore my armour low.

high notes and low notes, conspiring for your attention.

My shadow would be sore, had it fused into your tall green grasses of scorching windpipes.