emotionally attached to the notion of seducing you

my words pornographic
my head an opium den
never meant to cause you sorrow
or shoot you on the head.
a horrible creator painted my world blue
now I spend my evenings
adoring naked pictures of you.
don't hate me 
don't love me
don't steal my wine
just go out on a date with me.

homeless

I feel like being out in the world
with you today
but the world is too small for us
my huge ego
and your jaded attitude
need more hot air
than what is available
in the atmoshere
I am sorry for the drugs 
I bought for you
or the drugs I took
no amount of chocolate
could mend this wound
I could die without you 
but I won't.

buy me love

artwork by Jun Kumaori

you can't buy
a movie
a memory 
or a tear.

damn the distance

I woke up early to abuse you
we can share melodramatic coffee
where metaphorical guts are spilled
do I know you well enough to admit
I am a coward?
if I lived across the street from you
(I just kissed your left shoulder,
did you feel that?)
we could meet at the bus-stop
or the library
like dolphins who swim in the same waters
(I kissed your breast)
you play your Radiohead music
too loud
I use some excuse to come over
like I bought this watermelon
it's too big for my refrigarator
may I keep half in yours?
we share the watermelon
(do you swallow the little black seeds?
they are full of antioxidants
or would you spit them out 
if I weren't here?)
I will not limit myself to logic
I don't understand the mechanics of dreaming
I will say your name
(and kiss your eyes)
maybe I am not a coward with you
and tell you that you smell
like sweetness, sex and lilac
and now watermelon
because it ran down the side of your mouth
and everywhere.

body music

your dancing body has invaded my life
I'm under its magic spell
it's dancing on my pillow
it won't let me sleep
your every move 
causes friction
in the electric air 
spreading lighting bolts
that make me shudder
flung to the walls
my muscles break like glass
the room collapses on top of me
the whole world unraveled
except your hand that pulls me
from the ruins
I learn to crawl
I follow you in the labyrinth
your body a volcano of flesh
the only light in the dark cavern
we encounter a door
you slide the key as you whisper
"soon we will be free"
I feel your sweet breath
like a kiss on my tormented skin
our hands push the door
we are bathed in light
we walk into a fathomless archaic forest
an impressionist landscape
I sense your hunger and I gather figs
I peel them and feed them to you
you start dancing
and once again I am a grateful prisoner
of your moves
sacred and wicked
it is only a dream
we are painfully connected in this dream
let us not go back to reality.

long distance masochism tango blues

I will freeze-frame this divine image
the aroma of your skin sweeter than 
the rose in your hair
you glow like a shiny cadillac
like a Manhattan night
like champagne smiles
rising to the skies
I pray  to all the little mad gods to grant me 
three wishes
a ladder to the future summers
a movie screen
where the film is you
the reality of you
the desire of you
the memories of you 
open a window
I catch a momentary glimpse
of your face
it is the color of sunny days.
I need no more words
I need no more wishes.

a sea that there is no more

Arash Ashkar

I don't believe I ever saw your face unmasked
you never shared the little moments
the songs on the radio
the smell of your perfume
the small of your back
yours was private world
with conceited walls
and skies of gloom
you were so in love with 
your transparent skin
my syllables of rage
never reached you
only when I had walked away
you started missing my clichés
you attempted to enter the house 
I had abandoned
and you reached the bus-stop too late
from now on
between you and I
there are no bridges
no clouds
only a broken compass
and a fascinated sun
eager to burn
all tresspasers.
once upon a time
I was tempted to kiss your sealed lips
I am wiser now.

still life with the woodpecker

Albert Camus wrote that the only serious question is whether to kill yourself or not.

Tom Robbins wrote that the only serious question is whether time has a beginning and an end.
Camus clearly got up on the wrong side of bed, and Robbins must have forgotten to set the alarm.
There is only one serious question. And that is: Who knows how to make love stay?
Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to kill yourself