I don’t want to close over you as a blanket, sucking your light.
I don’t want to capture you inside a kiss nor strangle you with endless hugs.
I don’t want to be the king in whose castle, you live as a princess, not knowing you are a prisoner.
I don’t want to make love to your body, while your soul wanders the world, seeking other men.
my love, I don’t want you this way.
what I want is for you to go away, to taste the lips of every man, to savor their hearts, the churning that comes with loving you, and if you were to come back, if you were to still come back, I will know, you love me.
till then, I am happy to live in this world you live, breathing the air you breathe, remembering with my lips, yours.
I owe all of my poetry to the influence of Pablo Neruda. Reading him 10 years ago on the beaches of Goa, gave me the permission to be who I am and write what I feel. My poetry has never been the same after that. All that I write is an offering to Neruda.
The man pushes the other man in a wheelchair Down a dreary Salford road, avoiding kerbs, talking Always talking, talking of nothing, talking of everything, What it takes and never gives back. The load. With wheels of fire and halos
Whereby: The scent of your breath love dances like a butterfly. Drenched in your raining desire lush spring awaits. Yearnings whispered vigorously. The sun kissed golden season’s ancient story filled with certainty and uncertainty. Every word I utter reflects you.