The First Light

Between the cold morning and the travelling ice,

I admited to have rushed the harvest.

I rushed it, man.

And it shattered.

It fell between my foam,

I felt it almost reaching your hair,

but barely,

barely love that grew out of it.

Barely anything.

And I stood there,

building a world that never existed.

Am I wandering?

The rain leaves my grey brains coiling.

I walked the walk wisely thinking:

"Now, the scent of coffee brings the harvest back.

Am I ever going to be able to put and end to this?"

Man, let's put the harvest back

and let me love again.

June's Edge

June, you were variegated.

A big fat rat in a New York sewer,

and at the same time

a warm whimsy tropical wholemeal wind in the yellow sun of my Texas heart.

I wish I was her on Mondays.

When the breeze is aligned with the sun

and the harvest is golden-best

and the ducks head south

and the aquamarine reflects a silver light on my sand.

On your sand? : lack of love.

Me being herself can pour torrentials upon it,

The venom is yellow, Lemon.

The venom is green again upon sadness...

Some Sunday Words

I stood still in the middle of a white circle. In the white room.

Such thoughts that make the heart race.

Oh well, such lengthy love bordering in disappointment.

The meadows are full of color again.

I said to myself:

"I wanted an ocean.

I got an ocean...
And I should have been more specific."

With The Heavens Shut, I Swallowed The Meadows.

Rose Apple,

Oh well, oh well.

The sun is not pink but rather cumbersome.

I have met the Golden sadness and the

Tangerine happiness

and ate them.

Plum is in your lilac heart,

a feather falling!

A feeling, the color is warm yellow.

The glow exists without a twist.

I can be happy within sadness.

Watermelon,

Vanilla,

Tamarind, Velvet.

White, lush in the mountains.

White Flight

You with the tea and all

This warm woman great shaman from the bottom up

grabs the tea and explores the leftovers

"Not much in this mint feast,

those medieval urges,

crunches-up-to-the-knee

Western honey so slowly bathing your c- (THE REST I COULD NOT DECIPHER)"

What else was she supposed to foreshadow?

An ancient sheet, dry and unclean?

The Good Book of Blues, Mint Skin and Pepper.

Epilepsy eclipsed by the light of the moon,

a white flight beyond OUR senses.

We,

both.

As a dark axis, DNA.

The ratio of the vultures,

screams from the lung.

I am between dark and holy.

That is good,

but what else did she wrote?

For Anyone That Has Ever Felt Empty And Discouraged

After the wind and after

those who were left battered and ripped apart.

After all those days

Lemon love that wraps me is stronger.

Love is strong and I believe in myself, again: yesterday or tomorrow.

I find myself singing with the wind ravishingly flourishing inside me

The son I do not want.

The sun I want.

Again,

gracefully and respectfully

(would you be willing?)

My kindness is in the air for you to grab

I'm not done,

my head is high

I'm walking, falling and rising.

And I've tried and failed and kept trying.

You have felt it.

You have felt it.

You have felt it.

We're strong.

The curtains are shut.

Darkness in the middle of the sun?

I don't think so.

We're better, we have so much to offer.

We are not alone.

Yes, beyond being a human I am a friend.

I said:

"Love is stronger,
the courage finds its way out of my heart."

Molasses Among Men.

A succesful jerk.

Peaches and Cream all over my office notes.

Arguably, we're both meant to fall endlessly

on golden oily rivers,

drowning and foaming at the mouth.

I love you and a triangle is drawn between us,

amidst the silky snow,

and the forbidden sins that we embraced throughout our bodies.

I wouldn't trade our joy for a solid answer.

The unknown tastes lime green.

I need you.
Down-to-earth-ly.

Clover

I think

you would feel better under my storm.

I'm an enigma

but I do not let you know.

You're an enigma

A withdrawal from a desert, I have felt a void.

Lust

Now you are WINE

Coming,

or cumming.

The strongest of the breed.

A wreck now composed.

I composed your music, man:

"Erase everything.

Feed the lava at the minor chords

Retain yourself

as a creature once extinct

today risen aroused and pumping wine."

I thought you were extinct indeed.

Never thought you would return:

Red wine.

Rita Hayworth said to me in a dream:
"Baby, you can move mountains with lust."

Lush.

Under The Night

When you disappear behind the moon I wade through the fog,

after the rain... black and white and desperate.

I don't want to let you go.

Your flavor speaks to me in the forest,

as the wood embraces the moss

and as the moss waters

coldly...

Each drop falls

DEEPER.

I dream about you often,

An engine: there. In my south below.