the very thought of you makes me warm. In this winter, you have become my hearth. You fill my heart with the warmth of a hot coffee mug in a rainy afternoon.
Your tresses like a gentle water fall makes my heart brood over like a summer cloud. The antics I do with you is nothing but to truly know you and paradoxically to forget you, for what is love but the constant evolution of the mystery of the other person ?
Under the cavern of stars and your jet black hair, while you were hovering my body reverberating with me inside you, I saw god. I became a Sufi dervish whirling on your navel.
And your body becomes fluid in my hands and all I do is recourse its path into the night.
The thirst for your lips is ever growing in me. Our home is underneath the stars, between the streets of wild moaning, in the alley of hickeys, near the junction of ejaculations.
There is not a single day this month I’ve not thought about you. Even when your hands stop talking, your eyes, your eyes.
I remember how we got lost in the seas of our pupils and how we swam back every time we drifted too far away.
Maybe we are lovers who are just not meant to be. All the music we shared will forever be in the mix tape of my soul and each time I hear your name, the far reach of your voice, the warmth of your touch, I will press the play button of the cassette and perhaps we can dance yet again under the moonlight.
You will forever remain a song in my heart that I will refuse to sing.