Orchard eyes. like a poster on a wall they followed me and now even your empty frame still haunts me.
I spent the last seven days trying to convince myself that the couch is not a sinking ship and you are not the sea anyway.
We ran through metaphorical fields of blooming fruits that I had not yet tasted before the greenery went up in flames and now the air is stung with the sweet scent of forgiveness.
Now the paper beneath my palms threatens to ignite at any minute, the stench of smoke in my hair has caused the birds to stop whistling; I am bleeding juice from my fingertips but do not know how to drink it.
Orchard heart. I am the last standing tree in your forest. I will always see you as flourishing. I will always see you, orchard eyes.
Beyond the sex he was sleepwalking in shame hiding his faith ingloriously. A poacher in harem of politics, where you stack the hidden virility for killing the money. A single mate must die making love on screen in the vicinity
Hey you, who reside in horizons fleeing from my steps! How could I pluck out and gather winds from your lofty trees? Each time I climb mountains, I find an inscription registering a blow of your old perfume and a
Gladioli stand in a tantric daze under siege of prism. The colors fall dangling, unsettling silent memories. I thought I was nervous while playing a smell game of wild guns, when tanks were rolling out on streets. A final farewell
Your absence greets me every morning. In the beginning, so noisy, even wild, Thrusting its claws into my plexus, Leaving deep furrows oozing your memory, Bleeding questions and perplexities- Oh, how I hated that spectrum Which darkened my glaring world!