It is you folding me like the bellows of an accordion. I am surrendering. Only to you. And giving you the right to own me as you will.
The world stops existing in your arms, leaving me speechless… In love with love.
Love me. As a mother who had fed you on her breasts. Like a lover who teased you with them. Like a friend on whose chest you laid your head and wept. Love me.
The two of us, two lost keys of the different doors, once strangers and now a souvenir of pain.
Only the desireless can see the world objectively, detached from emotion, outcome and need. But what is the meaning of the truth if there is no love in between?
Hold me as if I were the most fragile object that a touch of a feather could break. Dance with me with the same animal craving, with the same desire you would make love to me.
Everything loses it’s splendour and light when your lashes flop over the dark circles below your eyes. Asleep. Soft. With a scent of the date cookies you ate as a child.
Like the tigress watching her playing cub while napping, covered with sun rays that are blinding her. She opens her eyes wider at every sound, at every movement of the trees, air, soil… Protective. Alert. That is how you look at me. Wanting to save me from all that could harm me. Preventing my pain by loving me
Drop by a drop of rain will bring a deluge, unless the dry summer sky is suppressing the clouds. But love… If given little by little, nobody can feed off its crumbs. Only a woman who loves thinks a little is enough, for the one who is precious to her heart, her eyes cannot see.
I can’t tell if the flame inside me is a sin or a virtue. Am I closer to holy for ignoring and abandoning the lustful desires of my body? Or am I stepping into the flames of the eternal fire for not indulging, for not satisfying, for not wanting all joys of the earthly pleasures?
Touch me with your bestial pupils, keep me in a floating air between us, clasp my shuddering thoughts below the moonlight captured in a candle jar.
Our goodnight spooning became goodbye turning away from one another, the farther we could, to the edges of the same bed.
The dreams are escape for the fearful and sensitive hearts who wanted to seize the day and catch the butterfly without killing it between the palms.
Give my soul to Heaven to keep it, while I am becoming nothing but pleasure in your skilful hands of a sculptor.
My eyes, on occasions, would ablaze with excitement, hoping for the new love to let my sparkle free. It is my heart that needs a lot of persuasions because its pain will hurt no one but me …
Old wounds frighten me more than those that are ahead of me. I am afraid that the stitches might bleed again.
Hug me, though I know it is fake. In cold winter nights even a snake feels warm, even lies sound as dreams fulfilled and love reciprocated.
