As long as I can hear the sweet melody of your words, I need not; The angel’s secret, to be whispered in my ears As long as I can lace your silky fingers round my...

Wordsare powerfulforces of nature.they are destruction.they are nourishment. they are flesh. they are water.they are flowers and bone.they burn. they cleansethey erase. they etch. they can eitherleave youfeelinghomelessor brimmingwith home.

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.

I want you to crave the crisp ocean breezeas much as I do.I want your soul to beas rain-swept as mine.

some poems frothand foam and rise…out of my morning cup ofmist-sweetened coffee.

my dear, I have nothing to say.my heart burns like the evening sky.

slow down, oh sweet tearsflowing nectar…down my lashes’ tipssomedaysomeone will kiss you away,even before you can reach my lips.

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

your handtouching mine.this is howgalaxiescollide.

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

Do not turn me intorestless watersif you cannot promiseto be my stream.

Poems are invisible flowers on my skin.

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.

moonlight disappears down the hillsmountains vanish into fogand i vanish into poetry.

i hope thatwhoever you arewherever you areand no matter howyou are feelingyou will always have somethingto smile about.

Look, moonI turned silver for you.

tread carefullyinto my life, my dear.the currents are strong.you will get lostin this warm oceanof my skin.

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

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.

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

you are ever the only onei want to giveall the peachesin my heart tothe only one by whomi want them bruised.

your gazeacrossmy cheeksturned theminto strawberry fields.

poets. have the toughest jobin the universe-of turning silenceinto eloquence.

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

i want to stay curled and cosiedand chocolated….foreverin my mother’s arms.

For it is up to you and meto take solacein nostalgia’s armsand our abilityto create the everlastingfrom fleeting moments.

you are here.the moontides are here.and that’s all that matters.

all the wordsall the poems know my warm, soft spots.

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

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

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.

Once in a while i am struckall over again… by just how blue the sky appears .. on wind-played autumn mornings, blue enoughto bruise a heart.

With callused handsi tastedthe softness of the moonin the coldest windsi discoveredmy soul’s warmest fireplacein the roughnessof his stubblethe tenderest love.

how can i everbreathe normally againafter having been cradledby the kind of sorrowso silent, that it nourishesafter having been sweptby the kind of joyso absolute, that it wounds.

Every heart must have its privatebestseller book.

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

my dear,we are all made of water. it’s okay to rage. sometimes it’s okay to rest. to recede.

and the afterglow…of your gaze…is the onlysweater that I need.

for those memories are nowjust like these little kittensI hold in my handsthose can be kissedand treasuredbut not held too tightly.

how these words, wait to diein the arms of all the poetry..yet to be written.

i am permanentlytannedin the summer of poetry.

what ismore beautifultears, in someone’s eyesfor meor in my eyesfor them.

the intensityin your eyesburns my penas i write.

all my lifei have looked for poemsto elope with.

I do not want to sleepfor fear I might miss the twinkle of the brightest starfor fear I may never knowhow the moon glimmers, in the darkest hour.

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

Poetry keeps mein a highly drunken stateof divinity.

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

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

even in the loneliest momentsi have been therefor myself.