your hair are open in d rains.
and yet I can smell em.
and I say,
your fragrance is intoxicating.
like your kiss.
its all because of your eyes.
I would sit all night
with those eyes
and I won’t even need
the holy absinthe.
now I lie,
On d bed,
unsatisfied man in d need of his lover’s company, half drenched between the distance and half cold in this winter’s creed.
Some water chimes tickling the pleasure of a lovers missing touch.
& a campfire burning in the desires of burnt wood to re live the green glory again. Nothing is complete. Not even this warm wine. Not even this blanket which once was like a tent filled with dreams n timeless travels.
A micro second with her presence makes me feel like a man. Like that prince riding on a horse across his orange blue meadows.
Like that sailor who knows seas like nobody else does. But I lie here, a man with uncut strings attached to that unbound eternity. Partially bound. Partially free.
“ANAIS NIN “I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.””—