Page 2 of 24

I found the map
of my destiny in your eyes.
My lips become two wandering nomads,
which travel the golden sands
of your body,
leaving kisses like footprints
as they explore,
lips afire as they stroll
on the sizzling sands above your soul,
your skin burning hot,
each gravel of fiery dirt,
each one of your flaming pores
is like a shimmering star,
your body
a universe of these heavenly stars
twisted and fused together,
a holy celestial desert.
My vagabond lips stroll
on the golden sands
above your soul,
they want to drink from
the oasis of love,
which rests in your buried ghost.
Kisses become more passionate
as those drifters dressed in red
dig down to your soul.
I glance at your eyes,
the map glimmers back at me.
What can I do
to make you
understand
that your love is more to me
than golden sands?
I feel the waves of my sorrow
crashing against my brain,
recrafting my mind,
melancholy is a beautiful sculptor,
using her tides that flow through me
like streaking fingers
to reshape my mind
into a beautiful clay vase,
she picks dark flowers from my past,
and places them into the vase,
she paints the vase with images
that slipped down my mind
and are stuck in my heart,
leaving me in a constant state of suffocation,
she places my brain, filled with black blooms,
on her front porch,
you got attracted
and now you are having tea with her.
I am sorry.
I found Eden in your eyes,
stories of forbidden love, temptation, and betrayal

in your glances.

You have a familiar face
as I have a serpent’s venom
trailing in my blood,
black poison bubbling in my heart
and leaking from my pen,
a chronic low grade fever
gnawing at my soul’s infected edges,
black poison giving tongues
to my racing thoughts
and mutating them into voices.
I have a choir of madness in my head,
I found God,
I pray in all my tongues.

I found Eden in your eyes.
Now, listen to me sing to you.

The gardener thrusts his shovel
into the Earth’s dying body,
pouring the seeds of life
into her wrinkled womb.
They blossom,
ripping through
her muddy flesh
to get to her stone bones,
reaching her skin of dirt
pushing,
pressing,
piercing,
until they have torn through
her pores of sand,
they begin to reach out
their arm-like leaves towards the sky,
towards blue freedom.
Their green heads peak out
and see what has happened
to their mother, to the Earth.
How man has plagued her
with radiation and toxic pollution.
The newborns then scream out oxygen
in horror.
It’s a shame we don’t hear them more often
when we breathe in their voices everyday.
I went to the cemetery
and picked the sorrow-colored souls
out of their graves,
as if they were gray roses,
plucking them out of their tombs,
out of those dead stone bushes,
some of their sins cut my fingers like thorns,
wounds from sins, eternal bruises,
external wombs on my skin
where poison blood is constantly born.
I pushed a little deeper
into that black garden of blooming death
and then I laid them down
like an impatient lover,
sewing them into a giant kite
like a lonely mother,
attaching them closer together,
lips to lips
and hips to hips.
In the end,
they resembled a humongous gray moon,
I flew that enormous kite
to block out the sparkling sun.
An elephant-shaped eclipse on a string
will darken all soon
so we all can rest in an eternal night,
reminiscent of a grave,
reminiscent of how it felt in your arms.
I want to lick you like a stamp
and put you on top of me.
Deliver me somewhere sacred.
Envelope me with your legs.
Embrace me
like a love letter.
Let’s read each other
into the night.
Hands as eyes,
seeing you with my touch,
staring at you with my clench.
I’m an active reader.
I will leave marks on your skin,
annotating my favorite curves,
I will write a love letter
back to you on the pages of your chest.
My words will kidnap your heart
as you sigh,
and send you to our place.
We will hide
in the enclaves of our lust.
When we leave
we do not goodbye,
we bookmark.
A dead tree stood there, leafless,
the crows came covering it with complete blackness,
a funeral of colors,
they made that dead tree look like a
black rose,
with thousands of dark feather-filled petals.
I rushed towards it
like a thirst-soaked bee,
I started taking the bottom of the tree apart
with two hands as dry as a pair of crackling leaves in the fall,
tugging out its roots,
and there strangled by the roots
I found my nectar-skinned heart,
I held it, I smelled it,
it’s perfumed with pain
just like the rest of my body, it’s perfumed with pain.
I wiped my honey tears with it,
until it became bloated with my sweet misery,
putting my solitude-sickened heart on the ground.
I watched it roll and burst like a red water balloon.
I crawled inside the hole I dug,
curled up in the dark,
waiting for the tree with its wooden fangs
to take my blood for water
and my flesh for soil.
I waited all covered in a dress of sap,
mud drying around my eyes
like an earthly eye shadow,
wounds opening along my spine,
this death is mine,
mine.

I am going to wear my frown,
like a rugged-edged crystal crown,
until it tears up my face,
until it brings me down.