All the eyes that aren’t your eyes...
Jack-Danieling all the lines in your lashes drips,
like i can savor these juicy words
off your mind lips raw...
like i haven't had in a lifetime, off you, a bite
like the desert of my arid waiting...
that i would sip off your every half glance,
of my love, a river...
and refill of your starry sky hairs,
for my longer night, a night...
There is something about you
that i can't explain
for my orphan heart, your eyes are but a mother
for my gypsy soul,
your voice is but home.
and when you smile,
poems blossom at the mustard fields of my lips
like Akhenaton hymns in your name
the Aton of my atheist faith in our happening
and the Satan of my hell inviting to our happening,
like a sun kiss your hairs, mess with my mind rosy cheeks then, Sirius
they said i am a lunatic to believe
a fertile dream of you every day in my unsaid words, i conceive
delivering my rhyming children in the cave of our silence
and nursing them my lifeline of patience.
understanding it all is but the enemy
knowing why, fires back at your hope fortresses,
catapult balls of despair arranging my desire archers,
my fingers burst in dancing butterflies
on the tunes of my love creed
what is it that you need?
that my heart can afford
when will it fruit, that flesh dream we, per blink, seed?
where would my air dyiptiques and Creed...
and if ever my arms would tuck your hairs into my bosom of time
but then i put on my blues sneakers
turn as loud the volume of wait
running miles in the cities of your fairytale dimples
every time i close my eyes to drop another pearl of love sweat
the streets of your words hug my stammering steps
and the empty lighthouse at the top of your aristocratic nose
calls my shortened breath for a rest
i climb in my worn out joggers of expectation,
to the flashing beacon of acceptance
the world seems too small from up there and bigger is my sky
a fleet of tears roll upon my sea face
watching my dream ships fade into the horizon of your angry absence
and in the wind howl
i listen but to your lost sailor eyes call...
the tune of melancholy
the sparrows of irony dance in the foggy temple of my wishes
as the pregnant clouds of my heavy heart, deliver
the star at your every scar, shiver
as i reach out my hands full of your coming to me
in the birdy air,,
and i breathe you in..
and yet, that necessary.