poetry

ďëëhow many hours without you?none-what do you look forward to in the morningin the dayafternoonnight… quasicinis:Stealing kisses on your moist […]

“This is the hour of silence. In no way does silence mean lack of sound : It means a state

congregation of the lonely voicessurgical allowancescrevices of whispersshadows of dark poolslosing a mirage oasisfundamentally nomadicleverages of engagementservices of anonymitypromises of

doesn’t make a difference does it?it’s just done with itself anyway~day ~has it ended yet-the armageddon of lives ~time never

the moon is emblematicunfailingly rising to your rapturewe plait generations when we do each others hairsemantics and simiotics of languageours

there is in the air an absence of memorya forgetting of happeningsa face becoming hard to placethe contours shiftthe smile

drip    drip  ……. driplet the droplets accumulate in a pool of an insignificant amountallow them to flow from the tap                                

memory is a lot like that cloud of smoke up in the mountainssomeone lighting a firein a small house made

that search for the ideal I… lurking in shadows and searching relentlessly. she had seen the days of writing letters

departures… hold within their fragile folds, the essence of arrivals…i have seen many paths diverge and depart only to meet