8

The stenciled silhouette of your body rests on
Canvas. I have yet to write on you, to trace the lines of your skin, the lines, the outlines, the contours.
I will trace you again,
I will touch the smoothness that is you,
Every still moment,
When there is a quiet solitude,
A solitude of becoming
Of growth,
Of love realized.
I will trace you and create you,
And you will be alive in the stillness,
Your voice reverberated from the depths of my
Body,
An echo alive,
I mark you with the scalpel that are my hands,
You mark me with the scalpels that are your feet,
Your hands, your voice, your awe.
Beauty, that is becoming
Love, that is becoming.
Growth, that is becoming.

7

The sweetness of the wetted leaves, the wind over, swept sun, morning moon. My clarity of vision, the palms encapsulate the outter contours and paint my body with rays of heat. You decorate me with your body of warmth, with your breasts of soil. I lay dead as a withered plant and my limbs become graced with the light of my soil. The light of my love that shines me and enfolds me in two pieces, where I stand before her, as one piece and she the other. The other half that has painted me and shone on me. The glowing halo that emancipates me. That is my love. That shines on me and waters me. I can feel her tears drip from the sky and hit my eyes. I can feel my longing of her absence to me. I can feel her water droplets sulking inside of my veins, the lifeblood that sustains my youth and permits me to continue and expand into countless millennia. The love of my soil. The love of my life. The woman of my night, the woman of my morning, and the woman of my day. Come to me and enlighten my insides with your warm and radiant glow. That is the Sun in the sky and the moon in the night.

6

The minute of intervals slowly moving,
Steadying itself on the quiet solitude of waiting,
How I watch those intervals,
With eyes discreet,
With eyes open,
My retinas glisten to the echo of the clock’s wail as it
Marks time, again and again.
How I steady myself to the clock, as if it were my life,
My life that had permitted me to find myself amongst yours,
My life that I wondered what I had been doing all this time,
Since you were absent.
Since you are present.
There are eight days since your leaving,
They will come in sets,
There will always be eight days when I am without you,
But the death of day and the birth of night,
Always makes time run together,
Since you were absent from me at one time,
Since you are present with me to all time,
Since you were absent,
I have steadied myself

5

The glowing and opaque moon of a shimmering rest of day,
When I took your whited palms under light of sky and proclaimed them as an essence to me.
I write the lines of your veins, and your blood quietly flows,
The emerging river that runs inside of my veins,
I give the ring of sky and put on your hand,
You wear the ring of sky and the promise of clouds rests on your body,
That the love floats ever softly around you as a glowing halo,
And you float above the ground and from your feet, soil springs forth,
You water the ground with your stalks of purity,
You wear the dress of night and the necklace of day,
The soil, the essence, the proclamation,
That you water and nurture the bones inside of my body,
And there you are,
The glowed hue of my night.





Thanks tywo! Thanks everyone for commenting on my blog! I am happy to see people read my writing!

4

The coarseness of waiting cannot plague those who wait,
Who wait for love, love in amorous eyes that wraps around two, that sparks the eyes of those and makes them see reflections that were unalike at one time, but become alike at the very instant.
The cancer of love that hits limbs and makes them move out of place in a dreamlike trance,
Love, that makes the sky send clear clouds to the tips of noses, and the serenity smell of purified air,
Love, the wind that floats in the atmosphere invisible, a figment that we cannot see,
Love, the moon at 3 am, and the twinkle of 3 am stars,
Love, the tree in the yard and the scratching of insects,
Love, the bedroom ceiling, the quiet walls,
Love, the look of my eyes into yours, the second by second blinking of retinas and the magnification of your eyes into mine,
Love, the sound of your whisper blowing breath into my ear,
Love, the bodies of us facing the bedroom ceiling, just talking, just staring at the ceiling above.
Love, when you sleep next to me and cuddle me,
Love, when you just breathe on me,
Love, when you sleep with me,
When you dream with me...

3

I floated from the entrapment of the ceiling,
I was surrounded by a box,
Where great walls and windows prohibited me from seeing,
The windows had no view, only the blankness of grey.
The entrapment held me down,
And like some bird,
I wished I could have flown and broken the rust barriers of the ceiling, and been in flight.
The floor was not open,
I could have fallen through a hole in the floor,
The hole would have given me air to breathe,
If only I could have fallen through that non-existent hole,
I would have been spewed out of the hole,
I would have been spewed out of your mouth,
Covered with the ripeness of your tongue,
You would have spat me and there I would be,
Fell through a hole just to get there,
The prison bars of ceiling and wall would not surround me,
And it would just be you and I there,
Alone, together at last,
The whispers of the clarity of sky,
The song of the purity of birds,
The cooing of Sun,
And we would meet mouth to mouth,
Our kisses would resuscitate one another,
And I would be free of entrapment,
And alive in the splendor,
That is your kiss...

2

I worked long hours,
The height of boredom, I was there, alone, sitting alone,
My co worker left sometimes and it would just be me there,
Where had I gone? Where had you gone?
I felt the dampness of that warehouse hell,
I felt isolated, and I would walk to the bathroom, drink from the fountain, dry my eyes, my eyes still remained damp.
If I could have left from that ruin.
The work entailed no work for me,
I had nowhere to go, and the cough of my mouth,
I sustained for the day,
I slept in the bed,
Holding onto stuffed bear,
The stuffed sheep resting above my pillow,
I coughed in sleep,
But I fell…
Asleep, and my eyes hit the pillow.
And I saw your eyes in mine,
And I dreamed you from my head.
I saw you in my head,
And I remembered that I wasn’t alone,
And that I never would be.
These days, these long hours, these weeks, these months,
I can see you in my dreams, and I can visit you there,
I can come to your dormitory after work, in my dreams and I can be greeted by your arms and the way you say “goofy” to me, I can clasp you there, in a dream, and I can not let go.
I will go to the work, the hell.
But I will remain content.
For another day has passed.
And another sleep shall come,
Where I can open my eyes inside of my sleep,
And see you with open eyes,
Looking into my pupils.
As if you are staring at me from another world.
But we are one in the same.

1

I watched you leave from an airport terminal,
My breath gasped for air,
Your luggage and checkout,
I sat hunched over in a chair,
And my eyes looked out,
To gaze at you; my pupils traced the outline of your body,
And I felt the longing of you pulled to me,
I cried a lake, I cried depths, I cried an ocean.
My throat coughed vividly,
My veins tensed,
To watch you from a seat,
To watch you closely,
My memory of you never escapes me,
I will always hold the outline of your body onto mine,
I will always feel the flame of warmth inside of me,
I will wait endless minutes for your eyes to trace me again,
I will wait endless minutes for my eyes to trace you again,
I will come walking with you,
You have left from an airport terminal,
But you have scarcely left,
You have gone, but you will come,
My fears will pass me,
My throat will sustain,
You will come to trace me again,
And you will be pulled to me,
And me to you.

the mind is relevant to function on the sole importance of thinking, yet my mind remains at a construct to understand. i am relevant to think of myself and of my body as seemingly being attached to something that encompasses a greater fraction of a single bodied entity. i feel as if the mind could breathe on its own accord. seemingly, i feel detached from mind at times, and only attached to body. my mind fuses itself to body, and then my find pulls away from body. at times when i am thinking, or, when my mind is not thinking. significantly implying that i, yes i, am seperate from mind, and that mind may seemingly be something entirely different. when the seperate i is thinking, it has problems to conceive the fact that the i is alive and that it has limbs that enable it to move and signals that are sent to and from the brain to render it to move. this i, feels impossibility at such feats and cannot acquire the powerful knowledge that lay outside of its faculties to understand and reason as so. the i, away from mind lies at the bottom of a well, while the mind lie outside in the breeze of winds that flap overhead and touch faces on streets, the same faces that have their own i, and their own mind. are all of the i's and minds seperate from one another? i cannot fathom this possibility...


this thought entailing itself, i want to begin work on a short story, the character is irrelevant, but would find himself caught in a woman's orgasm. the orgasm, like a flowing stream would flow to its destination point. i suppose the entirety of the story would be the character's mental development while inside the vagina of a woman. how would he function differently and would he understand a woman differently then before? if he were outside of the vagina, he would see the woman from another perspective, one that he conceives is made up of bodily want and bodily attraction. one that is prominent with the sex drive. but if he were in a whirpool of a woman's orgasm, completely inside of her, how would he then picture the woman? his mind would delve deeper into himself, and i suppose, he would seperate from his i, and he would focus on his mind. how did he find himself inside an orgasm? how did he find himself inside a woman? this is just a thought of something that has plagued me for a long time. how would he react when he is spewed out of a woman's orgasm or how would he react if he remained inside of the woman permenantly?
the man's orgasm a quick thing, a response of sexual enjoyment, it happens and it is vomited out. it feels good yes, but it is quick. but a woman's orgasm takes long strides to work at, it cooks, it churns, a process like fermentation. it is a process of slowly moving work and churning particles just right til they find themselves at the exact spot, the exact tip where the brink of chaos and unity ensues. the starting point of the woman's orgasm is peace, whereas the ending point of the orgasm is chaos. peace merges with chaos, order merges with anarchy, and the cosmos swirl with the ideas of a cosmic disaster or a big bang theory. yes, the woman's orgasm is the big bang theory and all matter was spewed from it. the man's orgasm is the sewer where temporary waste is stored and where short bursts of wonderment are collected. but the vastness of space lies in the orgasm of a woman.
the i cannot find unity, only the mind can. a mind with an orgasm is the most beautiful and revitalizing process of nature, for it sparks order and creation....