[Poetry Archives] Breathe
As she moves closer,
The smell of her perfume dances with the air around me.
My body, burning red, lusts to feel her warmth.
We will become one.
Like an excavator, she digs deeper and deeper into arches of my back.
No grip can save her from the explosion of ecstacy incessantly entering her body.
This is cloud nine.
Violent, she rips my shirt,
while small amounts of blood fill the crevices of the love wounds.
A small permanent remembrance of tonight...
The rhythm increases as she gasps for heir, hoping to inherit the treasure.
Unsheathed, we were one, yet will make another.
Breathe...
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Fine art is that in which the hand, the head, and the heart of man go together.
A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.
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Old friends pass away, new friends appear. It is just like the days. An old day passes, a new day arrives. The important thing is to make it meaningful: a meaningful friend - or a meaningful day.
And now we welcome the new year. Full of things that have never been.
Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.
The dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music, and it has the additional merit of being human and palpable. Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.
Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.
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