it is to be savored like a seabreeze-whispereddream…in the mysteriousblue minutesbefore dawnlike a secretinfatuation…. like slowlanguorous sipsof green tea… like a lingeringglimpsea self-wrappedparadiselike his name upon my lips.

kisses explode when… someone believes in me when my heart cries out a song of thanks to yours.

the saddest thing is to bea minute to someone,when you’ve made them your eternity.

there is some achingthat will only heal…in the mosque of sleep.

Look, moonI turned silver for you.

violent storms. and beautiful smiles. both have electricity. both are equally destructive in nature.

sometimes i wake upin the middleof the nightand findpoetry splatteredall over my bed.

the sapphire depthof my own love…startlesand warmsand wounds my soul.

Give mea moon-blanket nightto keep me warma long-gone smileto comfort mea pair of rain-blue eyesto haunt mea simple soul…to love me.

kisses happenwhen my morning blueberry muffin sails slowly upon my savoring tongue.

my love is a winter’s mistgently dissolvingthrough the windowat the nape of your neck.

may my touchalways…be tenderas i would strokemother’s cheekswhen she cried.

poetry. i am not writing it.(make way for me please)it is my skin. dripping with light.

you areso deliciousto my poetic side.

Poems are invisible flowers on my skin.

funny how our heartswere designed to loveso fiercely.but break ever so gently.

The splendid thingabout falling apartsilently…is thatyou can start overas many timesas you like.

sometimes i am not sure.if i am writing the poemor the poemis writing me.

the ocean mist engulfs me, like a lifetime’s friendship honored.

my poetry is merely a body.you are the soul in my words.

I live there…where the birds are infiniteeverywherewhere they fleeit’s a place your eyes can wanderbut never seeWhere everyone accepts me,Without any pretenseIt’s a place your mind can picturebut never really comprehend.

Poems can getsleepless tooand becomethe loneliest thingin the universe.

Whatever you get out of poetry – take it. take it. take it. Words are better off felt than understood.

my lovefor youwill always belike a mountain stream.quiet. persistent. continuous.

I want to have a romance so grand,it would have made Shakespeare fumble for words.

I wish to stay drenchedforeverin those rain-blue eyesin those…soul-reaching crystalsnot moving a musclenor breathingjustsavoringthis turquoise acheagainst my heart.

It is kind of ridiculous that a poet is expected to live in the real world.

Tell me..how do you stand there?filling the doorway….of my life.

your smile.is the ultimategolden dream.all the poemsin the worldare waking up from.

this life has been a landscape of painand still,flowersbloom in it.

To fall in love with someone’s thoughts – the most intimate, splendid romance.

i have laughedmore than daffodilsand cried more than June.

i am permanentlytannedin the summer of poetry.

One clear moment, one of trance One missed step, one perfect dance One missed shot, one and only chance Life is all…but one fleeting glance.

a silent night. – the most eloquent poem i have ever read.

If my life were a fragrance, it would smell like the sea.

may my faith always beat the end of the daylike a hummingbird…returningto its favorite flower.

our feet are grape-squashed in memoriesour skins are still flushedfrom the touch of summer’s lips.

even in the loneliest momentsi have been therefor myself.

wordslike mysterious mermaids come and live permanentlyin the soft sweepsand scars of my skin.

Poems are soft kitten furs. smoothing out the rough edges of my world.

poetrymelts my bones.enters my blood.and changesits composition.

What’s a rainy daywithout some deliciouscoffee-flavoured loneliness?

Tomorrow camewith the illusion of todayeven more fleeting than yesterdayit camelike it always comesand wentlike it’s always gonelike a favorite song in its final secondsTomorrow came and leftleaving nothingnothing…but a familiarlingeringsense of loss behind.

I blink January’s lashesand gush down December’s cheeks

Live as many lives as you can.

When I write…I am in the fond armsof a childhood friendupon whose colorful heart I can hang the charcoal drawingsof my woes.

there have been morningsso quiet and tenderlike a poem, on Thursday’s lipsthat I wonderedif I’d been kissed at all…

whatever you dobe gentle with yourself.you don’t just livein this worldor your homeor your skin.you also livein someone’s eyes.

when whisperedwhat an exquisitesong, it makes-your name.