I often scribble your
name on paper...
It smiles at me as if to say,
I know the things you do by day...
If I was to,
take off all my...
Red roses have a beauty
their stems bear sharp thorns...
Dancing
without feeling...
Amidst these stolen glances,
our hearts whisper lust...
I shape shift with all my power
into who I am...
A rhapsody of metal clinging,
As drop of waters fall down...
It is what is pleasing
To immortal senses...
Book splits open with a tremor of the spine
And the heavy scent of pages well aged overwhelms...
I wait, like a genie
sealed inside a whiskey bottle...
And so for where it starts
Is where it ends...