crying hands and mystic silver hair

we sabotaged our fate we

summoned our hatred and

dispersed it into the dusted

of our past lives moon.

your bones are too heavy to make

peace with. we are making excuses

to be above our honesty; we were 

diluted with

her heirloom walks. crying hands

and mystic silver hair. not the matter

never the intent but we always spoiled

our romantics and defeated our

own heartbeats. i am magik in

us. in us i magically disappear.

written on her

vintage moon eyes and

the ancient ravishing jade

will not even hold me below this

down.

leaping forward we break our

air just to breathe in cement

walls. treason skins falling apart

and towards the same saturday skies.

i am aged in your hands and i am

fairy tailed in your closed eyes.

vintage moon eyes.

i have rolled around in your

regrets and built mannequins

in your backwards. it was

written on her and we read

what we never before saw.

apocalypse

i kiss your temple in my

temporary and black spider

eyelashes are smudged with

vein like tornados. incognito

heirloom detailed with nostalgic

typewritten paper. paper written

with me writing with your

stems.

shortened hands and sexed folded

asleep. affixed repetition and salvaged

carbon smiles; we were a once upon

a time and now we are everything

in nothingness.  lazarus effect was gone

tomorrow and is here on our

yesterday. 

rustic librarian, vintage wings

i laugh till the end and smile

through the misspelled. I have

used that in varieties; my tenderness

will turn to grey scales soon and you

will no longer hold me breathing

close. if you believe our

love than i believe our

love. see how simple that

was; i talked and you hushed

the page.  remember this always,

always remember through the

forgery; i was always your

rustic librarian held high by my

vintage wings. 

i can fall and keep falling

and i needed to see you again;

our purple spines were the last

of my freedom. cinnamon tongues

and rewritten prose were angles

taken by no other. no other

distances were broken by

the wet tunnels and suede

grandeur trees. to the again

of our lives; you were the reason

i got up to see through

the dark skies, the lit

stars the hanging moon

of my shackles’ melting

steal pain. today i can fall and

remain peaceful in the knowing.

i can fall and keep falling because

i know that i was always flying.

bamboo meditations and giving

street noise; i am falling still

flying i am falling deeper higher

lower and nowhere but here. 

freedom speeches' tomorrow

ballet rocks with stainless

tanned freckles; your eyes

will be our fairy-tale. i reckoned

your regurgitated timids and

i allowed them to dim my

skin until there were

no more stars left in our skies.

there was always more than one.

for me, it never danced alone.

you missed the congregation of

our stapled voices and we are

freedom speeches’ tomorrow.

folded eyes

crunchy skies and crying

rainbows, we all morbidly dance

in stale seas against the same

incense wall. folded eyes

teased by plastic background

windshields. all along you were

steady and i kept bleeding

violent kisses all over our

forged poem. we should not be

saddened by the truth’s fallen

tempers; we were already broken

before the pieces divorced

with unity. yet, we still cry

when our skin touches their

fearless.

ephemeral

nosferatu; radiohead.

i remember when the walls

were numbed by my silence

and pain was opening my

delicacy of wounded shoulder

blades. negative wings.

i would have disappeared in your

palms if you held them out long

enough. i keep eating out of

the same distance. i keep shrinking

in the same orbital fonts.

the slumber of wounded

sentences are why i put

a spell on you. i don’t see anymore

but i am bewildered in your

forearms and i see every smile

in their strength. smoldering

kisses teething on our ephemeral

moonlit skies. i see you.

repeating eyes; moonlight sonata

open the door;

there are troubles waiting to

say goodbye. sonogram of

my tattooed insomnia. i recognized

you from the moment you fell asleep

on my nerves. i fell in love with you

before i could feel before i could

feel before i could feel. magnolia

dreams and waking up beside you

is my drug. i am addicted to your

soul and you gave me this. this.

you gave me her.

through a stolen moonlight sonata;

you gave me her.

moon goddess

moon goddess fever disappearing

forearms and educated fairies are

all stampeding upon my abdominal

wise eyes. i am your broken wing

stubbornly awakening the

other chains. spaces between their

desires keep numbing the greenery

around my pelvic. i worked my way

upwards to black paint and collage like

guitar strings. time becomes satire

and sarcastic metal wings start to

form on my backwards spine.

and then, there was God.

no more fatigue wrapped around my

neck my veins are empty and clear

blood has flown into my knowing heart.

i don’t know who you are;

you know nothing of who i am

to become.

no more highlighted eyes

no more highlighted eyes

as no more eyes that are higher

than us lit. because we will easily

drown the black sand beach in the purple

sky hair.

goddesses awake we are celebrating our

peace we are continuing our freedom

green dances and sabotaging the bored

rebels along the way.

married to stones; we are fearless under

the civil mood, the beautiful distractions,

the omniscient prayer lovers. 

no more highlighted eyes.

rain on me

dark light

in you my artistic becomes

an affair with god. i am

this page’s monogamous lover and

it, my velvet breathed muse. i am

your forgotten golden cracked wing

and i will never be broken by

the memory again.

backwards again against the walls

of her portrayal eyes; that sleeping

beauty never disturbed me when

i was awake.

so the full of the moon

became our dark light.

a throaty wolf

departed curves and mountain

graves are manifested in her

eyes. evergreen clouds interrogating

thawed out palm prints.

through stampedes and mornings combating

my inner wilderness goddesses; i have woken.

to your breathes and the woven of us

and the paranormal into each other. 
we are a compass without any needles, 
hearts beating without salvation.

raven hunter hair and flying dove eyes;

a sigh of painless

relief and a man becomes a throaty wolf.

we are those wolves, my love. 

written;again

i am empty inside but i keep writing

because i am full off our existence

spaces. they took one line from me

and thought i was finished.

i was gloomy but i was not finished;

i am merely a windy beginning.

words on my beneath were

fading away and your potency

on my ring finger arm started

boiling fonts. our becoming

vines procrastinating our

timeless in our here and now

in our smiling destiny tableaux.

today we are written; again.