Of Love Remains


Of Love Remains


Her substance lasted-

Somewhere inside

she shaped my being

and left a trace that most times hide

but burns at night in lucid dreams

of mangrove trees and salty waves

where in a niche from prying eyes

our legs entwined

in calming seas and became slaves

of fiery kisses and heated thighs-

She left a something under my skin,

a restless need to be again

inside her flesh, to be define

by sun and sand, somewhere within

she still remains in time defied

after her bones are bared and dry

and nothing left, she still remains

somewhere inside-



 “Desire is the kind of thing that

eats you


leaves you starving.”

― Nayyirah Waheed


Paper Dreams


Paper Dreams


What is left, dreams exhausted

in pursuit of a moment, and another,

rushing desires across a shape

I define so well.

You watch me every night,

my eternal lover,

how my restlessness play

on my lonely pillow, but you stay

forever in the words I write,

gone before my time

in your smile I dwell,

spilled dreams drawn

on an empty bed

where I make you mine-


“Can I be blamed for wanting a real body, to put my arms around? Without it I too am disembodied. I can listen to my own heartbeat against the bedsprings…but there’s something dead about it, something deserted.”

― Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s

Of Passion


Of Passion


Your passion, across my skin deluged

my nights alone, so close it was

under my sheets it dripped

and dripped desires, a certain way

your words would taunt and ripped

apart my meager dreams

of what if love somehow be there-

Your passion, it kept me alive

when far away your eager hands

your body touched and I deprived

with only a taste inside my mind-

Your passion fed my fiery wants

to make you mine,

to breathe you in like precious air-


“‎And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire.”

― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities





Gravitational forces pull down

years of smiles and frowns

following the laws of nature-

On your face every line I could count

through time abused skin,

loved dried and wrinkled

with touches of sin

hiding in wider hips,

my hands molding a pleasure

ripen and sprinkled

with a touch of dreams-


“Your face is marked with lines of life, put there by love and laughter, suffering and tears. It’s beautiful.”

― Lynsay Sands






Why, when love dissipates and alone

I retrace all the words, you are not there

if my thirst overcomes my desires,

you are no there in my bed

where your embers remain, not the fires

consuming my nights, you are not there-

May I ask if we are done

with whatever it was? If we had

but such moments to spare,

every one that I held tightly close

to my heart,

are we done without breaking apart?

Then, if love dissipates all alone

and my bed remains empty,

I may ask you to please drop me gently

from those clouds

where my wishes you kept

from the start-


“It’s not the endings that will haunt you

But the space where they should lie,

The things that simply faded

Without one final wave goodbye.”

― Erin Hanson

Love Dance


Love Dance


In a dance of colors a feathery display

in this a game of attraction,

words seeking a favorable reaction

to a glimpse of possibilities-

And what I seek but a loving woman

to fill my nights with passion,

 if not love then a warm body,

to carelessly fall

 into my heated arms

for a thousand and one nights

of seductive schemes-

I want to get lost in the charms

of a beautiful woman,

for this dance I will play

all my favorite games

with the brightest colors of all,

hoping love would somehow

find its way to my dreams-


I wondered what happened when you offered yourself to someone, and they opened you, only to discover you were not the gift they expected and they had to smile and nod and say thank you all the same.”

― Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper





I saw my reflection, confused

I recognized me in your eyes

and my smile on your lips, strange

how it flooded my muse

while my blood rushed your veins

and my heartbeats your heart

resonated in reprise-

And your words like Spring rains

soaked my dreams from the start

as you molded my longing

and I breathe all your wants-


“When I draw I don’t capture your likeness. I capture your soul.”

― Anthony T. Hincks