AwaitedA transient presencethat grants me vast happinessvisits this winter.
Because love is...Your skin is the canvas and you eyes are the starsin this milky night where the moonlight reflects your smilewith frozen breath and pencils at hand here I liebeholding your bare figure and every single golden hair strand.Because love is inhibition.My brush and the ink become oneresembling the love act we perform without any illumination but the fireflies glowmoans and cries fusing with the cicadas call, composing a novel nocturnal chantlikewise, the brush dexterously scraps away the delicate canvas, in a rough yet tender manner.Because love is delight.This art session is reaching its endsimilar to our existences which someday may disappear as wellvanish into nothingness ----Because love is eternity.Looking up at the resultI can see nothing but a scribble; I have finally resolved this riddle!extending your hand there you aregazing at you, I finally realize.Because love is understanding.True Beauty cannot be depicted this way aloneBecause love is partnership.Let ours
Crimson lipstickWith crimson lipstickthe wise Sun kisses the leavesthese reach the azure.
Thrilling journeyAwoke up with the taste of the deep anxiety in her throat.Decided to finish this unworthy lifethis human being approaches towards a lonely landnot wanting people around her.She does not care about not locking up the doorshe does not care about burglarsshe does not care about the neigboors making a fuss of it.She just runs. Far, far away from her presentas if for running her problems would vanish.The life of this woman has been full of liestears were damping the sterile groundshe's uncertain about what awaits her in the future.Fate is a shared cicleYou cannot interfere with itif you attempt to, people's fate around you will change as well.For every action there is a reaction and in turn, another reaction.Suddenly, forests turn into a long shelterher trembling legs and purple lips.The sound of the crushed dry leafsand the whisper of her breathingsounds which are being recorded as her last memories.She has not been sleeping for daysthou her body is showing
Haiku TestVermillion warm sunaround the stretch sleepy skymy eyeballs will shine.
TsukihimeDe nuevo teñido de rojoel salón de clases donde prometimos volvernos a veresa tarde no lloré...estos hermosos recuerdos quería proteger.Volver a gastar nuestro tiempohaciendo cosas ínutilessolamente una vez másde nuevo nuestras miradas se encontrarán.
HollowHollowMemories that came along with the nightfeelings which are felt over and over againnonetheless, such things do not represent anything to me anymoreempty is my body and my mind as well.Unwanted habits which never endold faces that never fadetherefore, still having the grace of life, it is nothing worth to celebrateI am not living, I am passing out.Hatred growing inside meheart bearing the darknessdespite being a human...I am not as beautiful as one of them.This is not nihilismthat is for people who threw away their emotionsa person that cannot feel being alive is not at faultnor any one's burden, it is just emptiness.I am like the sunwatching everyone livingI am like the moonwatching everyone dreaming.Landing my sight through the skycontemplating the starry overviewcounting my days as starsI do not see something new.Nobody understands menor I hope for one to doall I had to do is keep breathingas the shell I am.I do not mind opening my eyesI do not mind
Love me some moreYou're there standing straightof your eyes I'm watching the brightI am letting all my inhibitions awaybut I can't resist feeling this way.Of your hair the graceof your dress your braceyour steps towards me a route drawonly your presence makes me tame.Hug me tighterI can feel you breathing harderyour skin getting hotterand your passionate heart is on fire.Let the night get darkerlet our bodies go furtherbecause when the sun appears in the horizonfor love each other there is no reason.Throw away your tensenesskiss me fearlesslyshyness no moreall the night long...love me some more.
El Puerto de VeracruzAquel puerto donde el mar nos saluday las nubes nuestras conversaciones murmuranAquel las gaviotas su ruta al horizonte trazany el solo a su gente abrazaAquel puerto donde los crepúsculos son una hermosa ilusiónaquel puerto donde las tardes son bermellóny las noches están llenas de pasiónAquel puerto donde nacídonde mis más felices momentos vivíaquel puerto donde desembarcó Hernán Cortesy a través de las historia es lo que ahora vesAquel puerto con su entrada al mundodonde ni el más poderoso enemigo resistirse pudoaquel puerto donde entre sus embarcacionessus tripulantes llevan en el corazón las ambicionesAquel barroco puertoaquel puerto es mi utopía¿Qué es esto?...ah, era la caricia del mar que sentía.
Grandma“Is there something terribly wrong with me?”I sigh and look up from my book. In the evening light my grandmother stares back at me, utterly unaware that it’s the third time she’s asked in as many minutes. Complex maps of wrinkles frame her wide eyes, each crease charting the grief, joy and laughter of a lifetime she is slowly forgetting. I look at her and I remember the wit and spark that used to punctuate her speech. I remember the way she used to strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere; how she’d find wonder in the simplicity of everyday life. Her curiosity, her sense of adventure, her love of the world and of all the people in it have been replaced by a child-like fear of the unfamiliar.I look at my grandmother and behind her old, tired eyes I see a young girl who has lost hold of her mother’s hand in a world full of strangers.“No, Grandma. There’s nothing wrong with you at all.”curtains shift –the faint glowof
closeMy young son shuffles into our sunny kitchen on this late-spring morning. From my seat at the banquette, he is happily greeted with the customary, “Hey, man! Did you take some good dreams?” Sleepy-eyed, with that just-awakened stare, he nods as he scoots along the padded bench. Bear, his stuffed friend since infancy, is draped over his arm, limp and flat from several years of intense loving. He stretches out and plops his head into my lap, hair ruffled from his recent adventures in dreamland. Combing my fingers through it, lightly massaging his scalp, we wordlessly ease into the day. ‘like Eskimoses’we used to rub noseswill you remember?
Deliver usThe wind exhaledThese metal chains upon herfingers froze in fear.The pianist gaspedkeys reverberating withtense and bated breath.The bush rustled then,it's fragility masked byhaughty foliage.The cyclist haltedmuch to the chagrin of theinferior hill.Gloved hands held the giftand muscles relaxed, relievedthat life is okayafter all.
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tanagercheek-to-cheekunder the mulberry--birdwatching
virgahe, he is nimbus --booming about the house andcausing torrentialdownpour, but she isaltostratus, casting grayshadows and weepingat windows. her sobscome often, and come thick, buthe has no need foran umbrella -- hertears are virga; they fall butthere is no splashing.
Birth - A TankaA dandelion --gentle, yet somehow, still strong --holds itself firmly.Wind touches like a lover,Giving them a brand, new life.
Yellowwith jaundiced edges a sickening sky births stormsdengue thunderhead
~Love~Complementary;two DNA sequences.Orange halfs; not fake!
Cherry NapBlossoms are bloomingnear the old cherry giantthere lies a woman.