Sea-see

the salient sunshine in the throat of time-

Breathe

the breeze of the fizz in his laughter
sparkling the muscle of your heart, aha.

The last proof of fear went into
the treasures of a pirate ship, la.

 believe in your orchids.
 I might take the leap of water, and start blooming
with my swollen green leaves opening up through the pot.

Vast

 I love vases. Empty and full of flowers, it does not matter. They always contain happiness.
 Virtue has regained its colour for me lately, delighted winners
 of green apples, an arrow through and arms pointing to the sky.
 Non-linear, it is the way it does not go, when it does, when it does
 not need to be told, be spoken of, exorcized or orbited around.

 Simply, it is here. It is like tasting avocado for the first time.
 Unexpected and expected. Who knew life had this certainty?
 I hover, I breathe through and wonder at how much more there is to discover...
 when you love the cosmos, it gets you invisible tulips, every day.

bee within me

There is a new beam of light, in the distance

months and miles and moths, few tours and futures waived for the sharing of another bed

I have learnt. The pea under the mattress can blossom and its branches can grow onto you

and then discomfort becomes some other place of conditioning.

Soft, delicate, avocado-like, unexpected taste of power.

Please read for me. My words are growing as my fears become fallen yellow leaves.

Spring-ironing my favourite feeling, lean and tight, like muscles re-born into their felt tune.

Tune like tone become. They beckon my fingers into rhapsodies fulfilling the wetness in my mouth.

Wait a little while, I plead with you. I am at my best in the summer.

fur there cold

Cold, describe the importance of commune i-caption.

To understand restructure the findings of your orbited session around your own shelf..

Find those phrases that figure your figure and that which is not your figure but

makes you the perre son of your resistance.

Vacation of the sky that you usually inhabit to explore and deplore clouds which you

do not like to stare or peak, peek, peak their petty tolerances.

Absolve, why the word comes to me I know not, and for this reason I know.

There in the mist of lingering lies a body sexualised sexual in itself with no need

be complete by the Other, in me it is here, elated, liberated not reformed illformed

not to be

lust between fore wards

Ward of the muse non existent in the skin that you brush so intelligently

The hair that tangles around between your fingers is proof that the world is aloof

to your heartache, or may be not and if not then yes, someone could ex-sist and persist

in this reality of Beethoven's Adagio where the Ideal is what is Ideato what is seen right

in front of your eyes and behind their inversion

I am a patient to myself, myself forwarding off the excess added dictions to the non-sense that

surround bee leafs.


Sush pension of belief and leap like a frog into cake, no faith.

When did she stop being a word? When did she concluded on her conditions?

For if there were conditions she would not be, here in this line you see.

Hear this here. The hair falls, withdraws from a head that continuously finds new roots to replace her...

Loanliness, I would like to neologize and eulogise the borrowings that I have returned.

Nothing or warden is interest-free.

I am certain though that I can be the rhyme that survives in the palaces of within caresses

of my own very fairy scary daring sea.

barefoot

Fire crackling out of my shut mouth.

Fingers wise en-devour the I am pulse of want to be not me. Water dragon well come, come in me.

Paw and aim, paw and aim touch and pat the surface of the screen, deep profound ocean of obsession.

Session within me endless journey to become, further father of myself to be a woman I have never met.

Away and closer and closer to be away from the skin, the psyche strangles the scissors that cut its enemies out of its knitted breast.

To feel means weather it shines or it rains you shall run, you shall run it, here the flowing river that belongs to myself and not , and to one.

Ideal, ex-beasts and beauties of the minds that sing and condemn that which you are to love and hate in order to be or dare.

Dare, the time is there, to lure myself into unseeing to lick me.

Enter, exit and move this is how I want you to kill the imaginary climbing onto the symbol of the real Shell,

me, my mother, make me me.

A writer's bed

He draws a number on my page he colours in the numbers four and nine between white and black he draws my face his pen his hand taking a picture of me. I observe I see Me he draws lower what I watch and lingers at a place, you cannot see to gaze through out of me the words are impossible for what explodes in my navel from the string of what he draws pulling me towards him he touches he draws the shape of a part of me, or of what I wish him to see.

This place, this reader, my desire to be,

found and lost in me.

How to speak in poetry the non-poetry that ignites me?