Why are salt marshes frequently overflowed? Why am I drawn toward a moonlit path with intensity? I wish for tranquility to carry me through time, wear it as skin and allow June to deflect the bleakness of day. Why does spring allude to violet obsession? Why do oyster whispers echo within its own silent exterior? Nowadays my mood quickly shifts from tired to mellow, when at dusk silence follows thalia pink and knock-out orange, there is something to be said about love having dipped its toes in bitter blues and vulnerability I can’t remember what it was like before I met you, to breathe in spaces between empty whites and mauve hankering, why is the tongue fretful? why isn’t your heart tuned to my softest serenade? I can no longer make sense of things nor remember if berries
in blackberry bramble cocktail were macerated by cinnamon.
I have witnessed stranger things in life but none quite as strange as this, the city is a kaleidoscope of emotions and sounds with jasmine flowers swaying in the wind here the sun is sweltering hot and yet the heart is somehow content as above the sky grows faint. In the spaces between hectic everyday routine and leisurely hours the city wins you over with cinnamon bread, bowl of nuts and buttermilk, here the atmosphere is sweet-toned when a stranger lends a helping hand regardless of caste and colour of time and place, I have spent many an evening marveling upon idiosyncrasy of this kind– the city is peopled with hope not melancholia, with viewpoints both new and old embossed upon the asphalt concrete, tell me would you like me to give you a tour of my home country?
To find a kiss of yours on the stage of twilight when light slowly ebbs below the horizon, leaving behind a sliver of dark orange and dusty lavender what I wouldn’t give to trace my finger on your lips, extract an emotion or two from its bridge.
I taste the saltiness of ocean, as breath is interlaced with the serenity of sky, I allow its appeal to flood the senses.
To gaze upon your brow would be to witness the whirl of coruscating stars, how is it that God has made you so as to lead me upon the path to allegiance, I find I am partial to your visage and in turn have betrayed the moon.
And to immortalize you in verse, what I wouldn’t give to compare with stimulation
by strawberries, to find a kiss of yours in the mist of early dawn for purposes such I await the day.
What is the word for when people glance as they pass see it empty and give a sigh? His dark hair reaches the tailored shoulders of his blue blazer left stylishly open over a crisp white shirt standing amongst the crowd in a corner, you can tell he’s bored his long limbs straight and his head held high, there are stories hidden in the pupils of his eyes, stories of war, of death, of trauma and love that have been passed down. A vacuum of desire that cannot easily be filled, burns inside his chest as outside the sky is caressed by rain to others a stranger, to me an embodiment of art I wonder what fresh burden he harbors inside his heart? The dance floor is a map of yesteryear’s defeats and triumphs, and God watches on as we reveal our cards craving the scent of his showered skin, I sway along with other dancers, hiding behind masks of emotional armour.
By twilight the sky is bathed in rich tones of lust and bewilderment, as slowly her thighs are rushed into by feathered dominance, her cheeks flushed, as even the wind takes note of dark breathing and whispers, Leda lay with her fate tampered with.