Words

I have a way with words:
They guide me
Wherever my eyes are blinded
By the despairing mess.

Syllables

Skin soaked in syllables
I truly believe in,
My actions speak as loud
as my gentle breathing.

Grab me by my curves
Set them into motion
Sense my poise give in
Trade it with exposure

I’d wait some more
To feel that rush
I’d trade my soul
To see you blush

I learned to hate
Before I could love myself
First, all that is skin
And then, the noise within.

The undeniable beauty
of our weary bodies;
Breaths perfectly
contemporized
in soft silence.

(My first erotic micropoem.)

Oh, those Tuscan hills
And its cared-for fields;
Perfect geometries;
The scent of fermentation.

Ask yourself
«Do I care»
And act accordingly
Till the flare

Afraid of dying a nobody
Among the broken
Amidst the empty.

poised between
perdition and clarity

(weary of being)