24 Hours The morning drags its weary bones through paths descending west In wake of fretting grains of night ascending sunset’s crest Themselves in chase of parting eve astride a dying day Rekindled into birthing light as morning slinks away. The circle’s done and never breaks and tulips hatch on silver lakes... A crawling blob of primal hell infests your eastern sill Vaingloriously pouring in, intent on mindless kill, You let its tendril touch your skin beneath the linen sheet And beast turns helpless snuggling cub asleep against your feet. You pull the sheet to let the larks invade the sneezing sky Then hordes of giggling butterflies escape your winking eye The crawling blob turns mighty sun and boils away the sea While snowbells bloom between your toes to dance your love for me. The morning’s done a stifled yawn crowns birthing day’s majestic dawn... Old lizards lose heroic tails at war over your shoe, The one you lost inside the muck of earth inhaling dew When chasing bashful daffodils in love with snapping oak And wedding buds to drunken shoots beneath the shadow’s cloak. You limp your way inside the hug of carpets sprouting wheat As trailing sparks attack your hem, your crushing heel to greet, Then lie amongst the waving spikes allowing passing birds To pull your dress above the knee and sing you loving words. The day is done a fleeting smile a blushing cheek devoid of guile... A pod of whales, like warring gods drive sabers in the sun Then nail its bulk to ocean’s floor until the night is done, My fingers reach beneath your skirts in search of blazing skin The orcas playing songs to love in whistles long and thin. I rip your silk, you rip my shirt, we rip the burning sheets Then pull a dragon’s whiskered nose from mountain’s deep retreats And as he bawls his way to clouds to bathe us in his breath We let the feral beasts of love lay claim to raving death. The evening’s done inside the flame lie crumbling scraps of blushing shame... I watch your silent form, asleep, above a heap of rags, And touch your swollen bottom lip as sorrow gently nags, Your beauty shorn to flower stains of blue and red and black Upon your breasts, between your thighs, around your curving back. I tie a ribbon to your wrist to scribe my rhyming plea Then dip a feather to your wound’s sweet-scented potpourri... When fingers clamp around my neck and bear me to your smile And shyly ask me, once again, to raise the dragon’s bile. The night is done when falling stars write tales of love inside the scars... The morning drags its weary bones through paths descending west In wake of fretting grains of night ascending sunset’s crest Themselves in chase of parting eve astride a dying day Rekindled into birthing light as morning slinks away.

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Chili Con Carne I tasted your flesh and before biting my eyes ran already streams and my nose rivers and my mouth sizzled... then I bit, and then I screamed cremated from the inside out caring not for the skin peeling backwards from my flesh as for your flesh pouring the red pepper of your nipples down my throat. Tequila? you asked mischievously riding my neck and ensuring death abandons duty under the onslaught of that deliciously cleaving chili con carne.

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Candle There is a candle in your chest. Yes, the size of a sun. I try to grab it, with hand, with hands, with mouth, all I get is burns third degree as it jokes and flickers and lashes. There is also love in my chest. The size of a sun? I don’t know, immeasurable. It soothes, caresses... Does it heal? ...heals. I try to reach it, I look up geological maps, astronomical maps, astrological maps, my hand, hands, mouth, burning, blisters exploding into water and blood and skin geysers. Where is it? I ask in desperation. Try my breast, you say and my hand and hands heal and my mouth dies... heaven is reached only after death, no?

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Mascara'ding dressed in your mascara, nothing else. tried to undress you completely using mostly lips, tongue. don’t pay attention, you said, comparing my state of undressing to yours and finding mascara the only difference. you took the pencil drawing two lines underneath my eyes. now we are equally dressed, you claimed, climbing on top of me. I guess I look like Rambo. you declined any comment and soon after I didn’t care. you cheated, there is mascara on your belly I complained later on, investigating. there is mascara on your belly too, you pointed out reminding me things I didn’t wish forgotten. let’s take care of it, you offered me your tongue and fingers and breasts. I accepted, offering you in return the rest of your skin.

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Love Writes wake up in softness the moon drags its velvet ships upon your cushions beneath your blankets don’t shiver it is not my hand it will come replacing velvet with skin and ships with fists opening to palms gliding my anchor drops into you moaning at the crossroads of civilization and wilderness the tsunami conquering your flesh crushing ships and palms and anchor sucking my life while ambidextrously writing your bloodthirsty verse upon my shoulder blades until sated you sleep in softness nectars of creation dripping slowly inside you

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Since Icarus I tied a ribbon to your waist, then ran away till it stretched tight and your feet left the ground losing your left shoe your skirt flapping losing the apple, you shrieked delighted frightened the first human kite since Icarus, hang on to that cloud!... I called out, hoping you hear me watching geese and cranes and storks stream past you crying indignation... absurd, a she-human flying?... damn sexist birds. I hesitated before... fly, lover, fly!... I called again letting go of my end of ribbon and running after the cloud, after you, until I hit a wild sow and fell headlong into stinking mud laughing my head off as the piglets started licking my face and tuskless mom attacked my thick poetry tome grunting like a... boar. the heavenly view of pantyless you desperately hanging on to that cloud flying to and fro above my head your skirt billowing your feet kicking losing your right shoe too larks zooming up and down feeding you strawberries and fermenting rotten cherries... I did not mind any more the piglets chewing my ears and it was mom now licking me again and again. you dropped on top of me the ribbon a monochromatic rainbow getting tangled amongst tree tops your cheeks an extension of your lips’ color your skirt a parachute, we hid underneath it feeding the boars green apples and making love.

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d-e-s-i-r-e i paved the road to you cobblestones each marked with a single letter d-e-s-i-r-e randomly sunk into clay floating on sea floating on magma. i looked for those stains spelling desire right to left or left to right or at knight’s jump dragging you from one to the other and making love to you rooting in the clay or splaying in the sea or frying in the magma. sometimes i looked for days and you would find them before me thirsty inventing symmetries and geometries forcing your ankles to my knees and your knees to my head and as our joined uncountable knees jumbled we misspelled every possible combination of knees and letters in petrifying clay and drying sea and bubbling magma. we looked behind us those desert spots in that endless oasis or the other way around where letters chased lizards chasing flies chasing letters and the memory of our riotous passage was magnificent clay pearls inside sparkling sea pearls inside exploding magma pearls. shall we do it again? i asked and you just clammed up dragging me wordlessly backwards and failing to spell it all in reverse as our shivering carcasses illiterately knocked every single cobblestone out of its clay socket and sea grave and magma gurgling pit.

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Reflections you sloshed in the mud and a thousand moons jumped to life to die a crawling death from boot downwards to sole i tried to catch the one on the tip of your tongue yet it retreated hastily inside your mouth with tongue and summer open your eyes i commanded demanded begged but you refused knowing it to be moon’s last sanctuary i drew lines down your face with bitten orange and squashed cherry and crushed watermelon and slurped drunkenly those thousands of moons unable to hide from the ogre inhabiting my mouth before i undressed you i locked the forest and bolted the clearing and latched the burrows then laid your nakedness on the grass lone spectator to the shyness of that moon peeking from the depths of night’s blossoming pit

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Unborn Slide inside my shirt the whole of you, Wrap yourself around my torso a female ribbon snake pinching my nipple and yanking the hair on my chest and sinking tiny fangs between my ribs, Make love to me before undressing me foraging for clusters of grapes and odors of bitter cherries and deserted beehives still dripping the lives of long dead flowers, Undress me now letting mortality settle the hollow of your bite and spread its seed as I unwrap your coils and tie knots into your spine counting the days left of us, Don’t forget you carry my unborn love.

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Nature Bride A sun is hanging to your mouth by spider crafted threads, A swallows’ flight besieges crumbs amongst your morning’s shreds, And while your fingers dance the light Dispelling shrieks of crude delight A wayward wind bestrews its gusts upon your blooming beds. The clods of earth assail your toes with mud bequeathed tongues And climb toward your ankles’ pride upon bedraggled rungs, You laugh away the sleazy kiss Then reach inside your heart’s abyss Extorting words you’ll later paint inside your bursting lungs. You chase the erring golden moths beyond the shroud of night To touch inside the flimsy wings a dragon’s dreadful might And lay it over with your breath Before the coming trice of death Bestrides the little beasts with peace to glow inside your plight. You calm a mournful score of waves adrift upon a shore, You guide a bead of melting wax beyond a burning floor, And when the autumn creeps around You sit upon the rotting mound And try to cry your life anew inside that yellow gore. At peace, at last, the clothing dusk lays velvet to your skin, The grapes beneath your sleeping cheek allaying your chagrin, Inside your night you smell the oak, The stone, the root, the whiffs of smoke, Your lips bestowing on the world one tuneful violin.

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Cotton Killers dress your cottons white, the snow before touching ground the ire of magnesium flaring the blinding glare of a sun vainly trying to pierce the burnished face of silver, white. dress your cottons, white, from toes to ankle cup your breasts hug your essence drop from shoulders down to knees tie your hair circle your ring finger three times, white. I look at the pack of lupine cotton killers straining against their fetters, little finger to thumb, thumb to little finger, ten, the mightiest army facing your cotton since the day you were born ravenous in their adulation and worship and insatiable hunger for you, I unlock the seal pull the chain from the hoops... go! ten ogres attack your cotton fangs reaving and talons ripping and bills rending the toes to ankle and the cupping from breasts and the hugging from essence and the drapes and the ribbons and the rings baring to my eyes the white of your beauty and the tapestry of your uncovered skin and the blandishment of your hidden flesh, my pabulum. you killed my cotton, will you kill me as well? you ask and as I take over from the monsters still growling over the leftovers I shroud your toes to ankles in breath and wed your breasts to kisses and touch your essence with the magic wand of emboldened desire leaving your shoulders to knees inside my skin as your hair and your finger lash my chest with the white thread of cotton tatters.

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Hugging hugging water birds dragging long liquid tails between our chests and loins and thighs your wet hair sticking to my scalp while my eyelashes cut trails from the top to the bottom of your nipples. let us twine fingers as we light a holocaust under the water and our shared skin boils away and our twined toes break.

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Car Love Story a deep indent on your back round shaped after my steering wheel. I saw it when you removed your shirt and I removed my trousers and we removed everything else after. we were mindless before after to smells, stains, inconvenience, then looked for the discomfort of the back couch to snuggle into each other and sleep. next, the round indent will be across your breasts... I whispered into your hair temporarily leaving there the indent of five fingers each. the rain lulled us to sleep I first since, once I woke up, I found the indent of five fingers elsewhere.

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Double Parentheses I watch waves of sweat washing your body from the inside infiltrating my world through dilated pores and aroused skin bumps and swollen areolas from drop to blob to liquid bead flowing through the shallow gullies lining your sides and soaking till refuse into the drenched bedding. impatiently I pull the thick linen from underneath you and wring it above your sapless figure washing salt with salt until textile turns steel and sleep turns thresh when I crouch at your side waiting for the typhoon escaping my lungs to dry away the water and the honey and the milk. patiently I regard limpid crystals form on your skin adhering into sparkling worms on their way to become monster clusters when your body turns into a wondrous work of moaning art chastening into submission the shamefully exposed loins of Lot’s wife and the drying Dead Sea. I watch the violently dying glimmers of blinding white when I crush each and every lump in total disorder and my mind enjoys the sound of crunch seeding lurid blue roses inside your flesh as my thumb makes love to your skin.

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Duet in the series: guitar - in exactly 100 words I tap lightly on your ribs. Guitar, not xylophone, you laugh my gaucherie away forcing my talons out and in and down to draw five irregular strings across belly, dripping. A five string’ed one? I ask in wonder as my teeth start plucking the strings and your gaping mouth reverberates through all possible octaves from whisper to scream. Quindicesima? I suggest you sally forth beyond hearing limit watching the impregnated sun crack before glowing coal scraps enchase our shared loins. The ten contorted strings down my back evident only once I desert the linen and the awning of your body.

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Impatience in the series: guitar - in exactly 50 words before the door clicks out the world the ivory would have carved already its due and grapples dug culverts spine to rib and the nacre of buttons and the beads of necklace and the seam of cotton exploded your body the wailing fragility of guitar mine the irreverent stomping boot

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Guitar in the series: guitar - in exactly 25 words smashed it to braid strings to your flailing hair and burn lacquered splinters incense to your altar and liberate my fingers to play your nipples

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when the guitar... in the series: guitar - in exactly 12.5 words dies i bury my sob in your belly. oh, those delightful, ascending perfumes...

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orchestrating the Heavenly Cacophony, Allegro in the series: guitar - in exactly 6.25 words mine: flute yours: intimately playing... ahmmm... lips

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Graveyard I sneaked in through the grill digging under tombstones to steal death its prey ripping thousands of strings from the eternally silenced mouths of smashed guitars and orphaned violins and pregnant cellos dead long before finishing birthing their grave oceans of beautiful sorrow and banjoes and harps and sitars and... I ran away losing part of my calf to the graveyard dog and my ear to silence’s swishing scythe, barely missing my artery and life. I hung them all in my forest from branches, and clouds, and birds then opened the door to your cage... run! I said and watched your savage shape run amongst the raining strings pieces of your skin tearing into the metal and pieces of your music tearing the metal back into vibrating life.

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Passing ten eyes five times two starting life when they rise upon me and ending it with their setting, the long sleep between life and life filled with the temerity of abducting my body and turning it into quivering beast and burning hell and so many moments of death. life between beast and beast and hell and hell and death and death lost in those gardens chasing you and forests uprooting themselves ahead of you to suckle straight into roots the estranged morsels of skin in the wake of your passing. and after ten the nothingness of wait.

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Present I dressed myself twenty nakedness layers to lure you into undressing me the ink of grapes and the lipstick of oranges and the incense of apples. This makes three, there are seventeen to go. You count? I undress. Me? Us. I went on, reaching eight, then eleven then thirteen, fourteen... try as I may I couldn’t get past sixteen. You jeered and you taunted and you fleered and you mocked cutting my socks to ribbons and filling my shoes overcooked pasta... nothing helped, I was stuck. And yet it is so easy, you finally relented undressing me the last layer, you.

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Woman In Pain You of so many tears like you had none, your eyes dry your smile sunny your knees... breaking, a steely mix of muscle and will the mortar keeping together your crumbling insides. Woman in pain. You walked away lithe, proud, leaving me with the tears and the twitching lip and the petrified regard into the imminence of nowhere, yet I knew once that motorized sliding gate into hell cuts you away from my world your knees will give and your sun cloud and your eyes flood the city in vain wait for those swans you were so desperate to make me see. Hey, just a moment, don't open your eyes... look! those reflections swimming underneath your lake's surface, aren't they your tomorrow's swans?

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Dance and after you raised your arms to the sides of your body and snapped your fingers alongside eyelashes falling down over eyes and the pendulum of earrings... and after you started undulating, flowing, and streaming and slithering and slinking and sliding your body boneless your bones jointless your joints gristleless one with the light running away and the sound pouring in... and after you let straps off shoulders and shoes off toes followed by stockings off thighs unable to let skin off flesh and into my groping hands... and before you allowed the linen taste your sweats and lick your nectars and substitute its skin for that of yours which I robbed... you danced then danced again then danced once more.

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Milk or Sun? my top lip still white of your milk, the one you bathed in the one you fed me with as your breast hung above my face missing my mouth and compensating for the shameful mistake with another try and another... how many before I emptied you of life? the dead sun looking for a place to be buried and finding it among the roots of your hair certain to resurrect once you decide it is morning and time for life once more when you lick away that thin film of milk asking if I want more of it, milk or sun? you ask. milk, I say, saving yet again the world allowing the sun unlimited freedom to explode outwards of your room and while it burns drapes and clouds and the eyes of the valiant the dew hanging on to your nipple turns milk drop missing my mouth again, on purpose? I ask knowing the answer and waiting for the dead sun visit once more our dead bodies.

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Under The Snowbells trying to hide underneath the snowbells looking up at the divinity of white smell and the unending line of your calf. you find me putting an end to my invasion into your momentous glory when your toes fail to open my buttons and your teeth take over snapping the thread at times deeper than cloth at times deeper than skin finally standing up again to admire your deed. I grab your knee to pull you down faster than your clothes can follow and as your nakedness covers mine fluttering garments finally reach down covering us both and the crushed snowbells between our bodies tell me the real fragrance of intimate you.

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Fatherly I kissed you on the forehead. I hated it. A fatherly, brotherly, motherly kiss, a papal kiss, a butterfly could have done the same though it would have probably gone up in flames. You hated it too, I know. I felt you almost grabbing my lips with yours then saw you forcing your neck muscles to contract and the forehead to come in the way before turning leaving. I kissed you on the forehead. While all I wanted was just a tiny peck on your lips just a tiny flame to invade my mouth just a tiny rip of your cloth and a claw and a scream and a rage and a bath of sweat and the joined bellow there on the cold tiles in front of everyone. I spit the pearl in my palm the one I collected from your forehead hung it around my neck until next time. I promise to spit it back in your mouth and then burn those bodies inside our clothes until all which is left of us is a pile of ashes and the pearl rolling inside of it.

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Knots the world passes to my left, i look, not comprehending, doors open windows close cars pass... cars... strange word rhyming with wheels probably in another language. status quo... the rock group, not the status, beats its drums into my skull through ears and memories and feet tapping the sequence into the rest of my bones. i shatter into particles of i miss you. if i could love as much as i can i would probably die inside one day, even maybe one hour, or less. i love as much as i can, insufficient to die inside one hour or less. linguistic knots if whoever can understand. i wonder how it would feel to love you in your language. i know how it feels in mine.

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Almost Reality I live inside creation, visions of you splashed upon the walls crawling in a spectrum of colors and shapes eternally changing, like a drop of kerosene finding home upon a freshly accumulated puddle of rain chasing a child breeze into never reaching exhaustion. I drop a thought, a pebble, and the visions ebb into tri-dimensional tides sliding to the floor by sheer weight drowning my ankles, then my knees, before they reach my mouth I still have time to miss you and then they start pouring down my throat feeding me an almost reality. I wake up, wet and thirsty for reality.

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Definition your talents so many your lust for life so deep I think and wonder then think and stop wondering just admiring the saber forests you passed through and the sharp pebbles always carrying in your shoes and that ship you drag behind on dry sand your past and still when the sun hits your opening mouth it splashes luxuriously inside finding there the music and the color to carry back out before your mouth closes again to form the definition of smile

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Wet Memories when was it that I counted the wet hairs stuck to your scalp yet longing with impunity and impossibility to reach lower down to hide those dangling visions from another world and passion? was it when I busted down the glass door forcing my naked presence in the same one tile sized cell on the same one wet tile and as toes were dancing their slippery balancing act I forced the foam down your roots and my lips down your throat? was it when you opened the glass door inviting just my rubbing fingers in not counting on the rest of the hands following and then the rest of body and attachments the end result being a fire the hot shower could not extinguish? or, was it when I lay you on the dry linen watching the stain spread around you and when I finished two thick towels on your body and one on your hair the following events allowed us no choice but to start it all over once more? remember? we had to use hankies on each other as the towels were all gone, just keep wondering who of us two had more fun. I don’t remember though what we did the third time around.

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Apparition As if the sun broke down into billions of liquid prisms the world drowning under a rainbows' deluge cracked windows and flushed faces and panicking owls looking for relief down fox burrows... I rush out running counter current to the torrent of humanity careful not to be crushed by the stampeding wave and the blind adulation of reflection. They all look up stumble open mouthed close brained taking in the power of the pouring skies while I kneel down next to the one human the source of all this wonder. How did you know? she asks blinking her eyelids tied to the colors. I watched you blink and the colors dying the same instant, I answer. Is this all? she asks. No, I answer, looking at the flowers cascading from her mouth.

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Wandering fall asleep upon my back, let me wander across hills and down gullies and up ragged rocks vertiginously steep... be safe, smile, because once you wake up you might see my bleeding soles and my torn clothes yet the lilac will still bloom between my fingers and the titmouse nestle our tangled hair and mouths. sing once I let your lip escape my teeth which might be... a long time coming.

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Traces I pulled my fingers down your shoulder, the left of your back, your hip, your thigh... thin, sticky whiteness dragging along leaving pink traces... “Your skin, it is covered with cobwebs,” I said. “My skin, it is cobwebs,” you answered and I gasped, trying to cover my traces, impossible. “I am sorry,” I apologized, imagining the pain. “Don’t,” you said, “just do it once more." I pulled my fingers down your shoulder, the left of your back, your hip, your thigh... the white falling back into its traces, your skin intact... “You can hurt, you can mend,” you said, “my skin the raw matter, your fingers the tools, our minds… the artists.” I pulled my fingers down your shoulder, the left of your back, your hip, your thigh... blossoming flowers invading the traces down your skin.

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Transitions I woke up yearning for your warmth, Craving to slide underneath that blanket hosting your skin, Trying not to disturb your slumber, forgetting those invasive hands of yours living their separate life and trying to turn me into a four armed monster, Which are mine? I ask clearly disturbed as the octopus next to me adds two legs to the melee then a torso, and fangs, and the blanket's innocence is cruelly shattered by the interminable sounds of munching and crunching and grunting, Morpheus kicked out of his kingdom by an Eros gone berserk. I fall asleep the emptiness slowly filling up with pieces of you.

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Motor Alone, me and the motor. Last time it was me and the motor and your hand. With you attached at the other end. Pleasures, almost deadly, so beautiful, intense. I listen to the hum, frowning impatiently at the mechanical imperfection something’s wrong the motor needs tuning. Your tune.

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Existensia I swallow the highway, swallow a rain squished to molecular thickness underneath the wiper’s crushing rubber... imperialist! I shout watching it kill even the most innocent of droplets and for a second I cut its life too... so it learns the lesson and I almost learn the lesson myself barely missing the oncoming tail end of an eighteen wheeler. I touch the pedal suicide at the tip of my toes the artificial beast underneath me screeching wildly through its tin and plastic and leather mouths as it lurches between another eighteen wheeler and an ambulance dandling someone to certain death... damn driver, move your ass! I feel like screaming his way my tail lamps wagging despite. I hit the puddle same moment as my eyes hit the aquaplaning warning don’t know if it is my skill or the manufacturer’s design that carries me past the third eighteen wheeler this one sliding sideways more or less aiming my way leaving me with wonder in my heart at the sensation of metal crunching all around you. I sail past three cars camping mid of the road in ridiculous sexual juxtapositions people gesticulating under an artificial aura of a rotating blue light, I wonder if they are dancing in the rain or merely writing poetry. Luckily I find the break in time having entered an area too dark and too narrow and too hostile to my speed, the dog dragging the old lady behind him barking happily my way while she threatens me with her umbrella getting wet in the process. I turn off the motor turn off the lights turn off my mind and lean my forehead against the steering wheel trembling unwilling to give up my freedom and enter that huge prison beyond the door empty of you.

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Sides our shoes touching from time to time, the left side of your left shoe touching the right side of my right shoe, from time to time, the rest of the time it is your left thigh rubbing against my right thigh your hip against mine our fingers clenched, white, the dust behind us mingling into one cloud setting slowly inside the memory of our footsteps. our upper arms pressing underneath shoulders pressing our elbows pressing all of your right to all of my left even ears even ankles after undefined parts of me blended into undefined parts of you and vice versa when left and right and top and bottom and above and under lost all meaning now glistening as we finally lie side by side. our toes touching, twining, squeezing, your left toes between my right toes my left toes between your right toes knees to knees thighs to thighs and belly to belly and small nipples to big nipples as the water envelopes us gluing our skin to skin and our hair to hair and nothing passes between our mouths except for those tongues we barter.

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of color linger not in the world between worlds there where greys are masters and colors are not invented unborn same as the poets inexistent blink into your dream and pull up the corner of the curtain peeking beyond and allow yourself the gasp watching gazelles leap the ocean and snow flakes pile cobweb thin and snakes swallow rainbows to crawl elegantly between children and lovers and puppies let the corner of the curtain fall in the back of you as your voice finds the wonder of color

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Fox Carrying the basket of fruits to my mouth the splendor of your nakedness hidden by a mountain of pineapples and grapes and cherries and plums and hazelnuts... hazelnuts? you arch eyebrows laying down the basket to rummage inside it, frowning. I smile shrewdly, feeding my eyes to never reaching satiety on those apples dangling majestically from your chest. And whoever designed the lonesome strawberries sprouting downwards in innocent puzzlement was probably a God.

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telling of beauty there is something outrageously beautiful about you can’t define ask me and i will be tongue tied trying to find that which is obvious yet which i lack the words to paint i tried to read it back in my old poems in my new ones in those i did not yet write and even in those which others wrote... couldn’t find it sorry maybe it cannot be written in any words except those you do not hear sliding down my heart chambers and marking traces of flying suns and passing dragons i look at you and the only way to tell you of your beauty is just shut up and enjoy

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Remembering The Chocolate Did I write you a poem about the first time? Frightened as I was and you even more I probably didn't. I know you wanted to run away from the airport. Did you also think about jumping off the train? Took a long time to kiss, the bus, the train, the train, luckily we had to wait in that deserted train station when we decided the only risk was not to kiss. Remember? The hug? The kiss? The first time I touched your breast? It was summer. No, it wasn't cold, there was sun and birds and flowers... no, not clouds, don't remember any, do you remember the carnival? What do you mean which carnival? people dancing in the streets, carousels, clowns, flame swallowers... Your memory fails you, my lady, you do at least remember the music, do you? Which music? The one in the room when you lay my head on your knees and you sang me something I did not understand a word of. Oh, you remember the music. Thank God, for a moment you got me worried there. I also remember the chocolate. The one pouring down from your eyes when I left and I couldn't help myself but gulp it down. Funny thing, chocolate, so bitter...

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Rain Mirrors I cup my palms under the rain the outpour rivaling the one Noah saved the beasts and his skin and kin from. My hands fill and I bend over to protect the gathered puddle from the ongoing slaughter and allow it to become mirror. The rain beats my skull my neck drowns my wear and underwear and body yet I remain bent waiting till seeing in the mirror you. I drink it slowly till all of you is inside me and I sit in the mud smiling.

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Fonts First I tried Times New Roman, played with bold, italics... hmmm... maybe Arial or Arial Narrow, didn't quite like it, hey, this one sounds good, exotic, LuzSans MediumItalic... nah, nothing special and colors help neither, maybe I should try exotic paper instead of exotic fonts and some perfume spray a few drops of colorful wax (I wish I was a woman, lipstick smears would help) maybe my thumb's fingerprints stained with the blood of this morning's shaving and some drops from the tap, I could always claim these were tears... What are you doing my love? she asked climbing her skin all over me (all she had on was skin and hair... no, I won't tell) and preventing me from reaching the printer and seeing the screen (her skin opaque as there was flesh inside of it). I am trying to tell you "I love you" in some original font and way, I answered unable to concentrate any longer as she finally decided to settle astride of my thighs a very compromising proposition for any act of creativity (NO! creativity and NOT creation) seen that I was wearing just my skin as well. Don't work so hard, she smiled, touching me in various places with various places and finally placing her index to my lips then looking at it closely, not yet cross-eyed but brow-wrinkled... there is something written here, don't recognize the font, she tried again better now, she claimed, lying (since it was good all along) I recognize the I, the l-o-v-e... I have a problem with the last word... (lying, told you). I placed my right index finger on her left index nipple pushing until it was flat with her areola and she gave in wincing... Me? she asked smart-alecky way, and I did no push any further afraid to hurt my finger. No! You! I snarled immediately sorry as she lost all tension in her legs and fell all the way down between my thighs... well, all the way down is a manner of speaking, there wasn't so much to fall down as she nicely settled around... oops, I think I talk too much.

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Brain cogs, and wheels, and cogwheels, sliding, biting, locking into the chemical transmission belts of my brain the bearings struggling a bit before, finally, running smoothly as bone balls roll inside well oiled grooves moving one finger, then another, then both, and irepeatable icopyable imperfections start spilling whatever it is my brain considers art. blue skipping from frown to frown hanging on to wrinkles well anchored to my skin and history, warmth looking for the shivers mistakenly identifying the needles of pleasure for icicles, lilac, oh, my famous lilac emanating from the holes in my heart and losing its war with the forest of shrubs enveloping my skull to finally cry flowers. clicks, the electronics taking over from the mechanics, yet still clicks, a real world competing with a chemical world until I snarl into the contraption’s mouthpiece irate at being disturbed and the suavity of familiar octaves buzzes its saw through mental shields shredding my ears, tapping a melodious code and sculpting with tiny air fingers another kind of art upon my eardrum feeding the fuel of life straight into my brains. I love you, says the voice turning my snarl whimper and my fangs wool and cogs and wheels and cogwheels turn liquid mush oozing alongside that stupid grin you plant on my face.

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if I if I lose you inside that dream one wakes up from not then dream be called nightmare and wakeup becomes necessary not. if I meet you down the road rolling its pebbles to sea then I will pour pebbles in your hand watching pearls roll down to sea. if I find you waiting in a field of dying flowers wild then I will wait until you lie down to the ground and seeds explode around you growing flowers wild.

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The Delicate Task Of Kissing the sun rolls its lonely wheel up into the sky, the spokes unseen their protruding visible ends stretching the way rays do to Earth, touching your face. do you think they did all this way just for me? I think they did, look, they insist through clouds, and leaves and layers of glinting dust... I watch the scarlet mounting your cheeks, almost a natural extension of your lips, I touch it with my fingers trying to smear some on my face – no way, seems it is there just for you. you are beautiful, I tell you, kissing the tip of my finger and laying it on the tip of your nose before descending to your lips and then inside your blouse as my lips take over the delicate task of kissing.

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Stage I saw you there smiling, proud, your letters so beautiful when composing your words, almost as beautiful as your words when composing your sentences, almost as beautiful as you. Nothing's as beautiful as you. Not even your sentences composing your stories. I saw the lights, then the flashes, reflecting in your eyes when you did not blink in your teeth when you smiled in your lips when you did not smile locked in that emotion tear falling down to the wood of the stage to be trampled by knowledgeless shoes, in your heart unseen to all but me. I could read your lips, no, I could not hear you, I was too far away but I could see your lips moving, I guess you were reading maybe you were praying I know you were singing, I wonder if they heard you singing. I waited until all left and the lights went off following you to the car seeing the key turn in the ignition lock... you froze for that one moment when you saw me in the crossing headlights and then I disappeared, the mirage over your blush pulling up your mouth into a smile when you turned the car around the curb not even aware you were still singing.

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lll mornings in lilac and evenings in linden and nights in love, colors dressing the day's perfumes with erotic hues of round, and soft, and warm as you hop from tile to tile paying no attention to gusts of wind and fluttering hems and the inebriating flashes of pale thighs telling of promises, you did not have to climb the trees, branches of lilac, and linden, and love bending down to your passage stealing your hair drinking your lips and inhaling your body, leaving me with nothing but heart.

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White Lilac Cup your hands underneath the lilac bush wait for thousands of flowers to cascade, to pile, a mountain until you cannot carry the load anymore and you open your palms to let it rain... lilac on the world. I look upwards thinking it first spring snow the first flakes touching my eyes not melting the fragrance strangely intoxicating exhilarating and then it hits my reason bathing my senses with perfumes of white lilac and your hands. I wade through the unending rivers waiting for the moment the tiny white drops reach over my head and then I hide sinking to the soft bottom looking for that one violet petal you sent just for me. I will find it, I know I will.

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songbird land on my uprisen thumb, i won’t harm you, sink your shivering tiny claws till they clutch safely to my bone and trill me of the mountain tops you passed and the seas you braved and of her, i hear your heartbeat wild i can’t hear your song weak with exhaustion wait... here... a drop of water down your parched throat and your tattered wing, you tell me of cherries and stings of honey and seeds of sunflower... oh, no, why did you roll over into my palm your heat dissipating your eyes fading your song orphan and the end unknown? a kiss did she send me a kiss, songbird? and i lie between the thistles holding you to my heart hoping to break your eternal silence.

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I Remember I remember your smile. Remember? How can I forget a masterpiece shaping itself only a dining table away from me? For me. I remember your tear. Remember? It never left your eye yet somehow it reached already the masterpiece placing the hue of salt on the red of curving lips. For me. I remember your kiss. Remember? I carry the masterpiece incrusted on my lips forcing their shape to follow the shape and the hue you created. For me.

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