bridged heart

he told me to go

and close my eyes

he told me to go and dream with

my eyes closed. i told him i warned

him i decapitated my truth for him;

we deformed our nights.

that let me stay awake;

i am dreaming in your palms

awake.

i am a contradiction i am a clash

with your twig eyes and

hemmingway breathes.

withering higher in capsules

of our demon truths,

my nightmares fade with

your permanent

metal; bridged heart

to my soul.

married in a paris war

in paris on lime chairs and lettuce drinks.

speechless, silent.

a rumble in a railway.

open eyes. new candles

water drums, brick pianos, 

wooden catastrophes;

these wars always bring out the best in me

Photography: Still Rain Photography

remembering paris: an epic me

it was just a scratch and

you made it bleed

into golden particles that

cried my name

in higher heels and lover vibrating

voices.

in that you are.

in that you are my yin you are my

yang.

you are that dark butterfly’s

freedom.

in you i flew.

i was in paris and you were in

my wrists nerved with false

hoping and delirious

writings.

i will not swallow my heartbeat

any longer than you will

summon our unspoken lips.

we broke silences and

covered broken walls but

my memory danced alone

and that dark room it fell in

just lit up in my tears.

but he was there when it almost

happened and the mornings it

grew out of became my night.

my forever night with rained

on shoulders.

i tattooed me in you; you in me.

i began to feel the empty

rose growing sideways on my

sex; and wandering eyes

began to dance on my instants.

don't leave me in this photographs'

universe because the sky will mascarade

the melting scars of our hidden  breathes

before you see our art.

branches of your passions are opaque and

my eyes are filling the thunder’s aging.

finger painted tattoo swallowed my

skin; the pain nuptials the ink

through us in us with us for

this.

crippled hair and

artist palms;

we danced around the coveted

fair.

we danced because the black

is inside.

Photography by my one and only: Still Rain Photography 

skin erotica

i am scar blooded and loved as silver.

pierce my skin erotica and

with devotion, stand still on my wires

through our native indian

reflection of purple coats.

I said that before I feel the drums

i’m painting landscapes

i am painting portraits

i finished my self-portrait

with my eyelashes brushes.

Again and again and the repetition

Is making me breaking me fixing

Me in the right of your wrongs.

Floria Sigismondy :inspired

damp fingertips

i defended your honor and

your blacks were turned against

us. swelling in your concrete

soundtrack i am forced to reconsider

the polite strokes this page veins

with; damp fingertips.

dance with my neglect

and make peace with my obsession.

remember my notes and undo

your frequency recultured

beneathes. i played literature;

i am your stapled steal calm

arms wrapped around our

silver soul.

shorter awakes

Brush strokes fading

Down my backs’ change.

I cannot force us backwards

Rather, I will summon our art

Into the fine lines of our lives.

Crafting my neck around

Your black tones;

I am complete.

broad

i want blue hair;

i want that dance in dream indigo

night spread across each strand.

i want to be held and hold your

face against my awake i want

to become you to be less of you

and become piece by piece the neglect

of each space. i want to disable your

heart and let it bleed clean.

let it bleed spirit onto

its course roads untaken.

behind clasped fists our

freedom awakened its powerful

and entitled it;

here and now. don’t you see

me there…

im right here.

yours in words

yesterday we woke up smiling

the same storybook pages;

the words started falling off

our breasts and we veined

liberty against the coral

pulse.

i am so in love with you that

one breath of your black slanted

row of unbecoming makes me do

this;

become your writer

your lover

your writer.

designed me

“You must not let your life run in the ordinary way; do something that nobody else has done, something that will dazzle the world. Show that God's creative principle works in you.” Paramhasana Yogananda 

behind me

i misinterpreted his lines

across his eyes for numbness.

he breathes and i know he

still writes our names across

the universes’ drunks.

i left without leaving your eyes

and when we sleep i

am withered away.

‎punching your brick walled

embroidery depleted my

untamed tangible breathes.

‎fair and casted away while

we lay awake in aptitude of words.

solidarity forms our person

into this;

soul abode of freedom 

smiles.

distance and lines

i have composed you

and dreamed your eyes and

shut your torso sideways.

slow visits down your throat

makes me intend you and

submit to your foreign literature.

remember how i used to love the way

you said that?

“foreign”

we have become;

that.

partial

play properly with my words and

watch as these walls dissipate

into nothing.

revive me into little everythings

that only we could ever find.

everything else still matters and out

of control still staples us together.

i am inspired by the course breathes

you have yet to take.

me away with you

was in that same

sentence,  me

and my breathes are already

yours and i am flying.