Quote

May I borrow your line
Until I come up with mine
Your words handpicked
My intentions are solid;

I love her
But you say it better.

Allow me to inhale your thoughts
Exhale your sweetness in my voice
I will quote you
Until my own will do;

I love her
One day will be enough.

Secret

I ran to the top
About to roar;

I held back instead
That unsullied feeling
Before anything is ever said

Take a second,
My heart raced
Not often enough
We relish.

A triumph so sweet
Silence leaves my lips;
Our secret
l stayed speechless.

Once I unleash the words
They belong to the world.

Ectopic

I like things
That do not belong
Mislaid, lost
Dropped, thrown
How do they end up in my frame
How come I keep on noticing.

I am attracted to things
That do not quite seem to fit

Subtly ruining it;
A smudge, a note
A love
Unwritten in the stars.

A weakness
For displaced happiness
Somewhere I never intended;
Maybe,
My love,
I misplace my heart in the right spot.

Too much too soon

Did I reveal

Too much too soon

Safe and comfortable

I felt immune

To nonsense

And mind games 

To make-believe

And withholding

On my best behavior

When I gathered

I could be much more

Myself, dear friend

Will you still like me then?

How long is now

How long is now

This moment

Will last a lifetime

How long is now

My body endures the hours

But my mind took a halt

As soon as I entered the hall

I stopped minding the clock.

I shut my eyes

The goosebumps never lie

I awake in paradise

The soul dancing to the bass.

I lose myself 

As much as find

Exactly who I am.

The music becomes 

My second skin

I look around and

You too, have the same discipline

How long is now

We are infinite in this crowd 

Then, I will remember your smile

Your heart sounds just like mine in Berghain.

Make words, not love.

I take your mind to bed
Any opinion
You ever had,
Stark naked.

I start fondling
Your musings;
I envision
Your thoughts on my skin.

Your ideas enter me;
I feel myself
Tingling
From all the talking.

All my dreams flow
You, too, are close --
Baby, let me swallow
Any last word.

Autumn

Autumn is a sturdy man
Eager to take your clothes off
What a mess he will leave on the floor

Some dignity hanging on
For as long as possible
But he gets bolder by the day
Complacent to stay.


Autumn is a coy woman
Eager to wear the colors of desire
What a sight she leaves for the beholder

Some courage to resist
As you blow her a kiss
But before she succumbs
She is promised a firework.


Autumn is a seductive game
Here to devour her right away
While for her, withholding is foreplay

His approach is raw
She delays her fall
She wanted it to last
But he came too fast.

I pray for you

Eyes do not meet
But I still see
Lips are sealed
But still I speak.

I listen to
Your quiet voice
And I inhale
Your scent long gone.

I pray for you
Each night I do
I cannot touch you
But I am holding you.

That is what poets do

That is what poets do

They romanticize pain
They idealize the torment

There is solace in darkness
Which they craft to enlighten;

Lure with words
The forlorn is adorned
Guilt is charming
Mistakes rewarding

That part that is revolting
The best line in their poems.

That is what poets do

They embellish heartbreak
To cement the heartache

But as soon as they leave their paper
and scenic thoughts captivated readers

Life can no longer render
The adequate metaphor
Agony is agony;

There is no substitute for it.