Let me win, my adrenaline

Let me try to be more right for you …
I’ll get lost in war but if I’m ever found
I’ll make love meeting your eyes & more
With all of the sparks that fly around.

Hush now save all your sounds …
To the nights that’ll turn us round!
I am unworthy of you, but I will try!
To deserve you, an angel to be all mine.

I want to … I want it! It’s sad.
Damn it … I want you so bad!
Let me try to win your love over!
Be my lover, rain on my dry sins.

Wash my pain, touch my skin …
Play music on my lonely lips …
Wish, fill the silence, feel my kisses
Shhh, now make a smile for me to ruin.

My head spins at the sight of perfect 10,
At the sighs at the grins at the shy red!
I want to win! I want to win! Winning you
is the best thing to me that might happen.

When impossible takes a human form …

Dear walking heaven; the meaning of poetry and the reason of love wars, the innocence in your face is tempting for corruption. I surrender, I give up, I give in, I resist … This dreamy soul of yours which is stained with earthy colours is my forbidden desire, I want to drink it like fine wine, if this was possible. The way you walk like a child in the gardens of beauty makes me want to chase you, catch you and fill my lungs with your golden laughter. The way you glow makes me wonder … Do you drink sunshine in cups for breakfast or are you the angel of love? Why do the sunflowers follow you? Why do I feel that you are my good mornings, my warm afternoons, my fading evenings and gloomy nights?

Those lips of yours … When you talk, they slither softly and are deadly enough to kill. Are they poisonous berries? I would dare to try. Two goddesses playing around a lake and I would jump into its depth even though I can’t swim, I’d rather drown than be rescued. Gathered roses of which I want to extract the finest perfume that could give eternal youth. Or is it a nectar of delicious fruits that will run through the veins of the dead and give life to their cold hearts?

I don’t mind dying in your arms; where paradise lays or on the sounds of your laughs; the meaning of true happiness; the high tasteful music; the light that will conquer any evil. Your pure soul is the meaning of love,art,adventure and selflessness. An art piece that is so fine that life brags with to let me know that you’re not mine to have, I don’t deserve you but I will settle for pleasuring my eyes with seeing you from a distance.

How can something be so beautiful and torturous? Like a rose with thorns indeed, a rose swaying in the breeze playfully, tempting to be picked and owned. Breathtaking and captivating, a mix of pain and pleasure, worthless words to describe such a magical creature who is higher than to be made out of clay.

Sweet children

Yes I fancy those children, the way their imagination works is fascinating. He chases butterflies calling them magical fairies yet he releases them when they fall under his mercy. She cries on the crumbs of her crackers and calls them falling angels from the sky. She imagines the rain drops as soldiers being sent down to rest after a battle, so she dances under love trying to collect them on her skin to live in her.

He lays down to count the stars and says I’ll go there one day to play with them and perhaps shine like they do. She sneaks on her toes into my library; which she thinks is forbidden, to learn the secrets of life of course. They fear our cook; from her broad face that they compare with stone. They say she eats children and cook them.

I laugh at these scenes which they make. I only wish that the last one was not true. Yes, my angels are stars now in a far fairyland guiding soldiers to the secrets of life, that’s what I like to think.

When life loves life

The sun woke him up kissing his soft lips as she embraced him with warmth to say I love you, his colourful sheets tied his young body forbidding him to leave, the pigeons made love to him through his window with their beaks, untying himself he walked up to the pigeons and they flew lightly, the sea stared at the depth of his eyes with admiration.

He decided to greet the morning with a smile that made the crumbled bread on the Rambla street goes toast. He lived a day with the roses trying to catch his scent, with the country laying paths of glory for him to walk on, with the dancing birds around his head and the sky above him changed her colours when the sun buried herself in red.

The moon then came jealous playing the Moonlight Sonata on his flawless skin to keep him up until his seductive dreams pulled him in saying – “My turn” in thirst for life.

Sand castle

My mother, who is obsessed with order, told me today -“Stop building castles from sand, it will only create waves of rage and drown you.” Dying inhaling my dreams sounds like a good escape to me. I built my castles of sand and it will not break, but fly with the wind and settle everywhere chaotically like petals do when seasons change.

I want my dreams to be everywhere and out of order. I’d rather drown in my beautiful dreams than to be choked with the bare hands of reality; the serial killer of love and fantasy. It is the air in this sick world that is suffocating, I’d rather drown my head in emotions which are carried under those overwhelming waves of rage.