A sigh – blue lava covering the air
with a sweet taste of cushioned names –
and the restless tongues – a sigh –
body finally meets the mind –
symmetrical – the heart can lick
the moment if it wants to last- a sigh –
pining for an instant response –
innevitable reflex of weakened knees –
and the fingers – a sigh


Chocolate & Flowers

I must have overslept when
the message was delivered;
when eyes met & hands were held;
when one awaited another’s phone call –
passion’s own tension with matters of patience.
I must have woke up too late, after
they said how one could find it;
what to say between trembling lips;
what to do in between sweetened sips of silence –
passion’s own frictions with matters of tension.
I must have waited too long in line
for screen tests & awkward auctions;
no intellect could bid high enough;
no attention for brown eyes & hair;
just sold-out sex, painful, bloody –
passion’s own joke on those lacking direction

Wilde Cycle (4)

this one’s a bit naughty…


They met on a bus between distant places,
and before the key stepped into ignition
he picked the seat right next to her.
Her bag on the lap
fingers quietly tapped
and tension began to stir.

Inside culture halls,
they melt childhoods.

The view from the window was too familiar
both had known where forests meet ends
their bored gazes collided on seas
not just reflected
but deeply affected –
a slight tremble upon the knees.

Between silent calls,
they clone neighborhoods

She introduced herself with a smile
his delight was conveyed by practice of mime
they nodded when the radio spat out a song
It wasn’t one of the hits
the drum gave its beats
hearts pounded and found a grip strange and strong

Behind curtain falls,
they burn the woods

His fingers like snakes hissed between her legs
she didn’t see any reason for conflict
and lent him hers to direct and agree
Oh, the sensation
premature elation
from taking the private and setting it free

After the thralls,
they still buy what they shoul’nt

They kept themselves quiet with the aid of kisses
he rubbed ’til she pushed him with passion inside
the wet tunnels where two fingers danced the tingling swing
In spite of the public
everything pelvic
shivered with pleasure, quite a peak for a fling.

Around brown stalls
they slice open dead cooks.

She asked with a blush whether his turn was due
but the vehicle stopped, rush hour was cancelled
He nodded his thanks before leaving his stand
She wished him the best,
bag pressed tight to the chest,
all of her feelings halted and canned.

In the crowded malls
they negotiate with crooks

He waited outside with the rest of their luggage
gave a smirk to the driver when he finally left
she put back the ring on her wedded finger
They giggled with shame
celebrated the game
and kissed one more time so the moment would linger.


At first he dried his words with dex
but didn’t fail to expand on a glory,
composed some memoirs attached to an ex
and weaved faint strands of a worthy story.
But all he wanted was the act,
to check if all was well intact
Down there.

The second time he asked how flex
-ible I’ll get when we’ll enact
a scene, a play, a game of hex
to vindicate his stick’s erect
scheme to maximize my pleasure
and swear there’s nothing real to measure
Down there.

Along came the third, he laid the wrecks
of all his thoughts on silly leisure,
each cell was set to vent and vex,
titling it “a national treasure”.
And so I laughed and smiled at the screen
invented a tale all dirty with sin
Up there.