I am a tale, I am a book, written in different languages and styles I can’t be read, can’t be understood,neither by me nor the greatest of minds I am too big, I am too small, to be processed or seen by the naked eyeI am too dim, I am too bright, to appear in...
may my touchalways…be tenderas i would strokemother’s cheekswhen she cried.
in a worldfull oftemporary thingsyou area perpetual feeling.
I was coming together…limb by limb, after being brokenfor an infinity.
..i spill intothe kind of silenceonly Khalil Gibran would understand.
most of the timesit’s the hardest to saywhat I love moreyouor your memory.
poetrymelts my bones.enters my blood.and changesits composition.
love wounds me with soft pillows with tender lips and fingers
i am eithera stormor a drought.in-betweenshave neverbeen my thing.
Tea is just an excuse.i am drinking this sunset, this evening.and you.
the ocean mist engulfs me, like a lifetime’s friendship honored.
funny how our heartswere designed to loveso fiercely.but break ever so gently.
may this poetrybe the homeyou will someday come back to.
kisses… areand always will be the only language that I will have ever truly known.
When it comes to lovedo not eversettle for anythingless than magical.
how is it thathe’s alwaysin my thoughts. even when i am not thinking.
Poems are soft kitten furs. smoothing out the rough edges of my world.
when whisperedwhat an exquisitesong, it makes-your name.
love was never meant to bejust a metaphorbetween the pages of poetry.