in the garden of the orange trees

how can i not stop to see you, your hair sparkles like sunshine on clear water. i think i hear you reciting stories of kings and the psalms on your miradors. but i never see your lips move, in the garden of the orange trees.

 

 

– previously posted here – 

Advertisements

what is nice

i

have

no

idea

i

have

none

 

what is nice

 

when

no

thing

surprises

no

more

 

what is nice

 

our eyes

gleam

with

a

secret

as

frail

as

a

good

night

kiss

barely

touching

the

lips

 

what is nice

 

spell

that

word

 

what is nice

 

i’ll

probably

end

up

in

your

writing

just

like

you

in

mine

 

what is nice

 

must

not

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

end.

 

 

 

– previously posted here – 

return to (un)innocence

trying to form beautiful phrases amidst the roaring sounds of the moving taxi and the raindrops outside.
VROOM. VROOM.
tick. tick.

and my lips begin to chap.

i am angry.
you should’ve asked for guidance.
you are a fool.

my chapped lips begin to quiver.

the taxi stroll further to the breezy fog.
like an airplane.
but it is useless.

my quivering lips begin to tremble.

i hate you.
i don’t deserve to be like this.
getting less when i pay for more.

my trembling lips are entirely chapped.
tick. tick.
VROOM. VROOM.

failing to form beautiful phrases amidst the roaring sounds of the moving taxi and the raindrops outside.

 

 

 

– previously posted here –