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love laments in his oceanic eyes; poisoned waves gust, white gulls float, an old lighthouse stands amputated. the sea water simmers in  soot black, tangerine starfish crawl on the shores. lone spiralled stairs to infinite aches I climbed. and on deserted lands  with no musk I lived. I'm suffocating. he wouldn't let me surrender. he wouldn't let me run. there's no resurrection. there's no forgetting. Maybe on cold winter nights, he'll let me be his Lolita; he'll let me die neither loved nor unloved.

ephemeral dreams and clouded vision, on existentially drained nights death stands by my bedside as bewitching as a white jasmine. I'm cynical and exhausted I walk through narrow lanes where I forget to breathe. there's heavings of ghosts, pitch black skies, dead bodies overt. its ice cold I'm stumbling- I'm falling- there are broken mirrors and half bloomed roses ; frozen,they stench somehow. I'm on the ground I can't rise there's no light torn pages of my diary lay scattered around me. little pieces of glass stab into my heart, and there's a loud cry. agony echoes but it's not mine. it's my words'; letters and colons brimming over a lunatic's poems. I am only their grave.

Cold traces on bare skin ardent and raw like rain falling upon bleak cities. Tormented and desolate  bodies united  on dewy emerald  pasture seas. Like the moonlight  making love to scarlet-haired roses over the boughs  of snowy elms tides of carnal hunger drift onto sandy moors of liquid flesh  as thrushes sing melodic ballads and azure pearls ring bells in the Arcady.  

shrewd skin sheds poisoned blood reeks wicked woman burns her shadows dance  in the blaze serpents crawl out her eyes spitting venom seas stir in her sinned vagina yet the naked witch’s  blatant heart doesn’t stop somehow it bleeds yellow flowers and poetry.

She’s an old poem scribbled somewhere between  the rusted pages of a mad poet’s journal long lost and forgotten; like a forbidden magnolia blooming amidst the wine hued carnations as the eternal resplendence of spring. She’d take up strange paths aghast of blizzards and hurricanes with the subsequential clinks of her golden anklets orchestrating the pace of her lone walks. She’s everything beyond  the prudent contemplations of your inescapable realities. She’s poetry in flesh  and witchery in veins.

of all the crevices under my brown skin I could find you in each except one. it was an empty stasis. it smelt of your armpits and dried daffodils. blue rooks of  forgotten kisses floated, moon snails crawled across and desert winds blew there. there were no mornings  and no nights. there were no tales and no sonnets sung. a sea of deprivations and musky love that aches hung. ‘twas my substanceless heart you never cared to look within, cold,rusted and left to freeze.

the cusp between longings and losses is where I drift into the silent memories  of a man with crepuscular skin. an art journal on his lap, and moonbeams in his hair my eyes licked the sorcery in his; blemished face that gazed at constellations and a bronze moustache where silver seeds sprout. one day,it rained. clouds travelled across  mountains and rivers, over mussels and bluebells to soak us in the downpour. a million drops drizzled and we melted into the pockets of monsoon. yet his seeds grew in my trampled soils and bloomed into poetry and poppies every spring.

Her coffee brown skin blends In the drunk shades of dusk Her eyes,the metaphors of Her magical metamorphosis From the seducing enchantress to the Doe eyed muse she was. Spirits of earth and fire Entangled in the hollows of her collarbones And her honey bosom rising and falling With erotic passion. Her wild curves led to deep rivers Between the musk of her tender thighs And to valleys where only violet flowers bloomed; Nocturnal waters of desire Where untold stories and secrets of womanhood are told Basked in the silent moans of her orgasms Oh, but no. She isn’t supposed to dive deep into her own sexuality, is she? Her bare breasts pose perils to your testifications don’t they? Shouldn’t she compromise her feminity for your thousand year old tales of misogyny? All because you could never bear to see her as the dominatrix, You always wanted her to be the victim.

the old birds in my yard⠀ fly away to distant lands⠀ for deceptive summer eves have come⠀ yet again with their wild rains⠀ and malicious clouds.⠀ I sit on my balcony cross-legged⠀ sipping warm whiskey⠀ watching the sunset paint ⠀ the northern skies sepia.⠀ I hear the rustling leaves of the devil’s trees⠀ within the premises of that old temple by the lake⠀ where women used to worship serpents and fairies once⠀ collapsed into a rubble of stones with time.⠀ eerie questions suck on the abysses under my skin like leeches⠀ and I feel as if I’m⠀ on the edge of an apocalypse.⠀ I ask, “who makes leaves fall in autumn”?⠀ “why were thorny roses prettier than tranquil jasmines”? “where do old birds go to die ?⠀ do they ever cry for their wrinkled destinies ?⠀ do their tears fall off from their homes in the highs of heavenly trees ?⠀ do their nestlings weep at their demises?”⠀ I heave a deep sigh into the cold air⠀ close my eyes and see old birds going to die.⠀ and I tell myself⠀ 'maybe I’ll mo...

Our sweet breaths entangled in desperation savouring a moment frozen in time forever when your gentle lips met mine. euphoria trickling off our hearts, the cosmos ceasing to exist an ocean of relentless agony laid out before us yet you chose to love me and I chose to kiss you. drowning in each other’s warmth under a twilight sky of blooming baby stars with the prussian blue waves of a wild rumbling sea as the only witness the raw sensuality of our bodies united when you kissed me and I kissed you.