Winter, the red fading slowly from petals each day and though foliage sleeps a smile forms upon despairing lips. I used to believe one could never be cheerful while dealing with an uncertain future, believed before you stepped into my world and instilled hope.
A smile, a dialogue and gentle tap on the shoulder is all we need to unravel the pain swirling in a smoke behind silent eyes. I can feel words watching, wanting and just waiting to spill out, I can feel moments which lie between the sun and cloud, calling for me to save a life.
This morning wasn’t grey rather it was dipped into soothing lavender as silence is replaced by sounds of early traffic. Carefully, the white-heaven bound birds glide down bringing with them freshly baked hope, as I manage to pull myself out of bed.
Feeling then calls me to the things of this world to madness to chaos and to the dark intentions of disquiet, my mind ponders over political salad dressing where vegetable bits turn one against something as relevant as kosher salt; is verity merely a word lost in translation?
I greet the day with fire in my soul and determination raging in my breast, let there be a breeze of change let tranquility ripen slowly, in the midst of life we encounter death come let there be development of tenderness, let us stare into the eyes of time, the unthinkable let the young, old and restless step into the field, come let us plough peace as our new principle.
If ever the sky above is grey, and memory along with wisteria compels our understanding, then it must be December.
Hardly do I await the rising sun hardly do I remember
the last time my heart had sung when daily chores finish
and a welcoming fire begins to burn, what good is time that trembles at mere arrival of dusk?
At first you coalesce with guile plunging my soul with yours deep into the abyss of lawlessness and lust if only I could persuade you
to catch hold of inner light, of each moment
as it tiptoes around us and flies– You with your bowl of perjury and world of lies, what good is time when lips are sautéed with long despair?
And the days are not full enough
nor nights sufficient, beloved mine yet I sought to hear the voice of conscience knowing
outside it’s dark and the snow is falling.
Softly my insides burn upon the gradual unveiling of want, its rough religion which sought to recite itself as a monologue knowing that strength is depleted.
Your eyes swiftly glance and thumb through like a manuscript, your hands touch me in places unnameable as though aroused by the thought of corrupting sweet innocence, before you I have never been so conscious of my own body in my own clothes.
Come align your soul, come align your raring senses this path you have set me on will make you redefine urge, its erotic fragments. I want to seize your throat and pin you hard against the wall, trace my tongue and kiss along the edge of collarbone until you give in and thrust your manliness into my flower zone.
Crimson is the colour of candour that rushes to greet my flesh and blood, mine is the fire that conquers lust devours sootiness of debauchery until its effect has worn out. To the bemused corner of bearded lips I smile and plant a kiss, knowing I had awoken something pure and unfeigned inside of you that will never sleep again.
Spoiling me with the lightest brush of your lips, a smile a parting and sweet disorder. I reckon you know what goes on inside my head long after your gaze leaves the room, aware that the last strawberry would taste the best of all.