Free Verse # 415 (in the layers of poetry)

Her body is the place I come to when I long to remember, when I long to forget. Her body is the image at its fountainhead — the soul embodied.

~

The image of her hands
comes at night,
the burning wings
of a fluttering moth,
a candle’s breath
dreaming.

~

Sedimented
in the layers of poetry
the moonlight that once shun
on the shore as we kissed,
the frail scent of a basil
kissing your cheek at dawn.

~

Lovemaking is not unlike breadmaking, and when the bread rises there you have it.

~

The death
growing inside of me
shall one day blossom
and waft me like a sigh
over the sea of eternity

~

A te toucher je frissonne
comme les débuts du printemps,
comme un feu qui prend souffle
de l’intime corps de l’amour.

~

Silence descends
like a spring-shower;
in the openness I listen
to the voice of the One.

~

I’m disappearing in you again
like the tolling sound of a bell
in the fog of memories

~

Autumn night reading…
the birdsongs I follow
through the branches of words
always somehow lead
to a clearing in the forest
where I am one with you

Free Verse # 411 (mon poème et mon cœur)

If I touched you with my heart, would you be the poem I’ve been aching to write? – the poem that exhausts my life in a sea of mystery?

~

He touched her and her heart, weeping, was a violin that finally found its soul.

~

My poem and my heart are coextensive: the woman who touches one touches the other.

~

Mon poème et mon cœur sont coextensives: la femme qui touche l’un touchera l’autre.

~

We are all in the end unfinished stories.

~

Un jour, même après ma mort, un papillon anonyme trouvera la fleur secrète qui brule dans mon corps.

~

آخر الطرقات بين
قلبي وقلبها
وردة حمراء تذوي
وورقة خريف
هائمة في الريح

~

Photographer unknown

Clothed by his poem,
every word etched
with the ink of a fire
that burned for ages
on the altar of his heart.

~

Caressant sa peau
avec mon poème
la fleur entre ses jambes
s’en est ouverte
comme une coquille qui m’offrait
l’infini de la mer

Free Verse # 402 (tangled in the poem)

His poetry made her thaw,
now she flows
with the wildness of a river
in the ocean of his arms,
the radiance of her love soaking
all the corners of his life.

~

Through the folds of dawn
her silence comes,
a dream, a memory.

~

Let night between us be
A moving sea of poetry

~

His love
a wave swelling inside of her,
rushing through her limbs,
flowing, flowering,
laying her open
at the center of his altar,
a seething flame.

~

Whatever the inspiration
the poem is always her,
a star-seed in the sea
of her poetry.

~

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Photographer unknown

Cocooned in his love,
the flame of the goddess
ablaze in her body,
her skin against his shore
shuddering with the fire
of a thousand thousand waves.

~

Tangled in the poem as in my lover’s hair.

Free Verse # 400 (only love)

Across lifetimes
we beckon each other,
two birds calling
from the leafy boughs
as the tree of time
grows and sprawls,
its roots rising
from eternity,
its branches spreading
in the sky of love.

~

His touch seethes the sun in her skin.

~

In his web of words
rocking gently
as the fire of his being
burns her body
to a slow gush,
her sultry water
his cup of wine,
the ink of his poetry.

~

Dawn…
in the white silence
our shared breath,
flowering

~

Her poem
rubs against his fullness,
sultry waves probing
the deeps of his ocean,
her flowers imbibing
the light in his words.

~

Dawn…
her body over mine,
her being in mine
shuddering
as the world is born again,
as from the ash of our poem
we are reborn.

~

The love of love
for which words
are messengers,
vessels carrying
the eternal flame.

~

His touch is not physical
yet it binds her;
his shadow
comes over her
and her ocean
is at the root
of his mountain,
waves unfolding
from her core.

~

Dusk settling…
in my heart the winged
dance of poetry

~

Love sighs and we scatter,
embers in the wind,
our bodies
the dust of ancient stars
catching fire once again,
burning in eternal light.

~

His words in her mouth
a succulent ferment
of a thousand poems
burning all at once.

~

In this transient world only love endures.

Free Verse # 399 (a chapel on the hill)

In a loud world
my heart
is a calm chapel
lying somewhere
on a green hill
where birds sing
and streams murmur
as your voice
inside of me wanders
like incense
like prayer
like the prophecy of poetry

~

Cracks
where moss grows,
the chipped lips
of the cup that once
flowed with our wine,
burned hot with our tea
as we made poetry.

~

Sometimes I touch you
and this touch
swells my heart
in rivers of poetry;
manhood?—
rooting myself deeper
in the sanctity
of this touch,
annihilated as your being
becomes my heart’s poetry,
swimming inside
your throbbing sea of light.

~

A fiery death,
a moth’s death,
in her kiss I feel
the boundless force of life.

~

Poetry has always been a way to polish your face in my heart, to bring its light to a greater shining in my soul, my life.

~

Dawn,
I wake up drowning
in a sea of your sighs,
your breath
a shawl curled
around the limbs
of the world,
its heat
rising from the earth,
raining from the sky.

~

Traversing
the wet ponds of night
her shewolf howl
arrives at dawn,
a tremor shaking
the sea of sleep,
a primal bite
in the flesh of poetry.

~

Her fragrance
an assassin’s knife
stealing through the night,
the fire of its steel
burning against my neck,
blazing the dark forest
of desire and poetry.

~

Her skin absorbs his words
like water the light
as she fills with the glow
of his states of mind,
the wine of his poetry.

One Quiver, One Drop

My breath of words
inside of you travels,
a shawl of mist stroking
your hidden sea of dew;
the red leaves in your garden
shiver wet
as your damp limbs and boughs
gently sway;
your skin flowers
into a blood red moan,
from between its petals
a river gushing,
scarlet whispers hushed
on a quiet summer eve,
one drop from its flow
diluting a thousand aching seas,
one quiver of its passion
burning a thousand universes
on the altar of eternity.

Free Verse # 393 (her poem had a bee sting)

Between us time leaps
in long lapses,
the words we write now
we exchanged in kisses
a thousand years ago,
our fingertips
now touching unlock
the house of eternity.

~

Her poem had a bee sting
wrapped in its tail;
finishing it I could feel
my tongue and lips swell,
and could read nothing else
for days, for days.

~

Girl with a sword,
girl with a pen,
girl whose fragrance
is a sword and a pen,
and O the ink!
O the blood!
girl blazing
an innocent smile.

~

A thousand years old poem;
my heart a leaf trembling
as the wind blows
from the abyss of the past,
how fresh the wound,
how poignant the red fragrance
of the gleaming rose.

~

My aloneness,
the heaviness of my heart,
a wisp of smoke vanishing
in the fragrance of our touch.

Free Verse # 390 (my spring of poetry)

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Photographer Unknown

Love was between us
and she was a tailoress,
fitting my poems
to the curves of her skin,
the sinews of her breath.

~

With a breath,
with a word,
with a heartbeat,
with a ribbon of your fragrance
fill my heart to overflow,
grant me your light
as a gift of life.

~

Our poetry…
two birds
to one another
deep in the woods
calling.

~

Wetness dripping…
poetry dissolved
amid her thighs

~

tyr-january-06-2017
Tyr, South Lebanon, January 06, 2017

The anchor of your breath
once fell into me,
now my skin is all rust
from the salt of your sea.

~

Stirring softly,
a breeze amid the trees
at dawn,
my breath in starseeds
dewing on your skin,
your dark hair
a mooncloud
in my spring of poetry.

Free Verse # 387 (sewing her skin to the crest of dawn)

Awake all night
sewing her skin
to the crest of dawn;
daybreak,
the perfume of her light
a tidal wave
in endless ripples
washing
the face of the world.

~

Your perfume
drifting on the wind
entraps my poem;
your perfume
is a world
enclosing my poem,
its sky opening
to the other side.

~

How old is it,
your perfume
on my pillow
this winter morning?

When did the bees first fly
from flower to flower
gathering the honey
of your name?

~

Moment vêtu
de la soif
de nos lèvres,
sa mèche brulante
avec le feu
de nos yeux
croisés,
désir solaire
de deux corps
englouties
dans une goutte
de poésie.

~

You laid on the bed
and I saw the sea
elongated,
denuding itself slowly
wave after frothing wave,
all the horizons smothered
in the salt of her kiss.

~

Dawn comes
sauntering
with your skirt
for skin,
the red
of its billow
in the summer wind
lifting
to cover the world
with…

~

Happened in the night
while thinking of you,
my heart drowned
and couldn’t pull through.

~

Your breath
in the cold night,
vapor on the outside
on my windows;
I open to let you in
but the dark alone enters
to share my bed,
nest in my heart.

~

My poem…
the breath of a candle
trembling on the walls
inside her ribs;
moon-birds at night
rising from her skin,
falling from her hair.

~

Rain at dawn…
your breath
a candle burning
in a corner in my heart;
your face
a fountain of light
pouring
from inside of me.

~

Tombe la pluie…
mon cœur
un poème brulant
dans la chandelle
de ses yeux.

~

The light of the moon
goes on shining
untouchable like destiny,
the breathless dew
from its white sinews falling,
a moment, a thousand years.

~

I grew up
inhaling your skin,
in the breath of tea,
in dawn’s mist,
in the pages of books,
in strangers’ smiles,
in poetry’s hair,
in silence,
in all of life.

Free Verse # 386 (my love for you is a faithful dog)

This life
rich in small moments,
a cup of strong tea,
how the jasmine
under the moon smells,
towards the end of winter
the sun on my face,
a lock of your hair
on your bare back,
poetry…

~

Your name
under my pillow,
a heart beating
all through the night,
each pulse a star
in my dreams quivering
with hope, with light.

~

In your presence
yesteryear’s dry branch
suddenly blooms,
water itself
burns with thirst,
and the flowers
without need for bees
spill pure honey.

~

This place
where I live…
an autumn field
soaked
in the dark rain
of your hair.

~

The moon
shines on and on
as though this night
can last forever,
you and me
a fleeting shadow
passing
into the dawn
of flowers.

~

The one poem we wrote
still shaking
the flowering branch
at the edge of dawn,
its fragrance
covering the earth
with a soft rain
of burning dew,
the insignia
of our breath.

~

My poems…
fireflies eclipsed
in the moon of her face

~

I pretend
to live my life
but in truth
I have been
in a train station
waiting for so long,
gazing into
the passing faces
searching for you.

~

I am a house
haunted
by the candle
of her absence,
all night all day
it burns,
and in my windows
its light aches.

~

My love for you
is a faithful dog
that will not leave me,
all day all night
it barks in my heart,
its racket
sometimes comes out
as poetry…

His Ink; Her Juice; Their Poetry

She laid there
surrounded by candles,
the inked verses
of past night’s lovemaking
sprawling like vines
all across her naked skin,
the bowl of grapes
placed on her belly
trembling each time
his pen pushed
into her, into the pink flower
between her thighs,
wanting her essence, he said,
her juices mixed
with each word he wrote
in his private journal,
and as the writing
became feverish
her mouth caught fire
and flared with moans
brighter than all
the surrounding candles,
brighter than the moon
peeking jealous
through curtains.
At the pen’s last stroke
the grapes
pressed between their bodies
burst like moans…

Free Verse # 381 (sea of moss, sea of stars)

Body against body
we wrestled all night,
each soldered movement
a brushstroke
painting our lust
an offering on the altar
of the burning moon.

~

She read his poem at morn
and it clang to her lips all day long,
taking her by surprise
every now and then
as if she was being kissed breathless,
as if she was being taken
on the altar of love.

~

Beyond the passion
and the cataclysm of fire
we were two flowers
silently opening to one another,
singing the eternal song.

~

Faceless
to the solitary dawn
I turn again
and move along my way,
the way of thorns and pebbles,
the desert way
in the poem’s heart.

~

Here the road ends
and the light
at the end of the world
dawns in my eyes,
here my heart is a garden
blooming with poems
no lips will drink,
blooming with flowers
no one will smell.

~

tumblr_ogwc2449ao1uup67jo1_540
Artist unknown

Cocooned in poetry
into the mountain of fire
we vanished,
the slow burn of our moans
smoke seeping
on the fervent wind,
arousing the world.

~

On her inside
his poem grew,
sea of moss,
sea of stars,
an infinite touch
sweeping through;
and when she quivered
suddenly and without reason,
when up along her spine
shivers incessantly travelled,
when she found her thighs
trembling with ache,
the softness of their canvas
stained,
she knew
that inside of her
he is growing,
swelling tidal
with softness and rage,
and that his moss and stars
will soon cover her body,
sheathing her inside a skin
of fervent poetry.

Free Verse # 379 (the face I loved before I was born)

Silent moon
passing over the hills
and I am here
in the poem’s abyss
writing your breath
a quilt of flowers
covering the silent earth.

~

So I think of you
in the moonlight at dawn
and I am a poem
full of remembrance
of the face I loved
before I was born.

~

Liminal light at dawn
and I swear
with the fingertips of poetry
I can touch your face
made of holy white.

~

For eons I could wait for you,
the moon will be the moon,
and your breath will be the womb
in which I live and write.

~

When I can’t sleep
I hold your hand in my hand
and fervently write
with your breath for a pen.

~

Her buoying breath,
the incense of honey
burning on the altar
of moonlight at dawn.

~

Alone in my poetry,
a moon weaving his verse
on the other side of silence
waiting for you.

~

Night is suddenly
filled with shadows
all falling from her hair.

~

The moon moves closer,
her breasts overfull
with the lure
of immemorial centuries,
the starlight in my poem quivers
reducing my soul
to a shining white.

~

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Clad in fog we vanished
into the mystic mountain of union,
inseparable we rose again
breathing open
wide as the sky.

~

I live in anticipation
of your next breath
that will come
like an autumn leaf
to rest against my cheek,
that will come
like a summer breeze
to wrap my neck.

~

I am a worshiper
in the house of mercy,
with the mesh of your pen
drain my blood
then write me in the sky,
with the wick of your candle
drain my tears
then light the dark night.

Free Verse # 378 (wolf, poet, man)

Your breath at dawn hovers
and in the dewing light
I stroke your face
with the brush of poetry

~

Anima,
womb of ardent water,
here, before your altar,
see into me,
wolf, poet, man,
with your boundless desire
open me wider
to the fullness of your moon.

~

Your breath
a wandering wind
pressing me on and on,
to what port?
to what poem?
No, not to a place
does it call me
but to a new way being.

~

Son sein
dans sa bouche,
fleur d’amande,
fleur de cerisier,
lune qui tremble
toute nue dans le ciel.

~

Her breast
in his mouth,
almond flower,
cherry flower,
a moon shivering
all naked in the sky.

~

In autumn
brown leaves
in her hair,
and her breath
the smoke
of burning grass
drifting over the fields.

~

November’s chill,
the fragrant flower
more fragrant still
as if, knowing it will die,
it sets her heart free
in the cold sky.

~

cxmy14mxaaetrvs-jpg-large
Photographer unknown

Breath of dawn,
breath of love infinite,
sun of my heart,
into your neck
my curled poem melts,
into the sea dreaming
behind your sleeping eyes.

~

Time was a vase of broken memories.

~

She is dreaming again,
my poem is stirring
with a longing
older than the stars.

~

In this life
where we live once
my ache is to touch you,
make you whole.

~

Sleepless nights are for you, for our poetry.

~

She hated the camera
yet when I photographed her
with the lense of poetry
she looked into my eyes
asking me to bare her
a little, a lot more.

~

My lust
your lust
honeydew
in our lungs burning,
from the censer
of our merged mouths
an incense thick rising
and filling the whole night.

~

Waking
for a moment
during the thick night,
the thought of you
a candle burning,
its shadows playing
on the walls of my room,
painting images
of life death,
painting the hidden stories
of my life.

~

They tell me of the moon, I look at you and smile.

Free Verse # 377 (gypsy way, rooted in love)

At the entrance
of the poem
I wait for you,
in my hand a vow
weaved
with the light of the moon.

~

O heart
what do I do with you?
I cast you
you come back,
I hold you
you turn away,
I wait for you
you fail to come,
O heart
always on the run.

~

In the morning
your voice comes to me
and I shake like a leaf
caught in the wind

~

A dash of salt and honey; a handful of poetry.

~

Always
a little ink in my blood
to paint the shadows
of the burning flowers

~

Woman brave enough to meet me
In the throbbing heart of poetry

~

This poetry,
a chalice we raise
and pour
over the world…
the moon at dawn.

~

Without a word uttered
our poems
conversed all night
in the light
of the stars and moon

~

The swift step
of your shadow
moving across my poem
blooming at dawn

~

I gaze into her face
and my eyes drift,
a bird flying
through a sea of fog,
and this flight
becomes my journey,
this journey becomes home.

~

What does it take
to make the poem dance?
A smile from her lips,
A gaze from her eyes.

~

Even after I die
some things will never change,
stars will shine,
waves will roll,
and my breath will seek yours
in the infinity of the sky.

~

Take me with you
on a gypsy kind of road,
from poem to poem
a life of wandering,
in our bag
the moon and stars,
and a kiss shared
like bread like wine,
a kiss shared
for the rest of our days.

~

Will you come? –
I am no longer sure;
like a poem standing
in its own grave,
all around me grows
the silence of the sky.

~

Softly softly
sway inside of me,
this gentle rub
the sigh of poetry.

Free Verse # 376 (we are poetry)

Le poème en elle
achève son corps ;
la poésie
dans ses yeux
plante ses feux,
fontaine qui arrose
terre et cieux.

~

Her breasts…
a spring of flowers
blooming in my mouth

~

With silver moonlight
I braid her hair,
kiss her freckles
to burning stars;
with the jasmine’s breath
I balm her neck,
rouse the dawn
in her eyes;
with autumn’s sun
I water her silence,
ripen the last figs
on her lips;
with dawn’s light
I rub her eyelids
clear blue as the water
of infinite skies.

~

On the evening wind
your voice
calls out to me,
breath of tea,
breath of jasmine,
a simple intimacy
open like the moon.

~

On the bank we sit
whispering secrets
to each other
and watching
the river flow,
soon, soon,
the river becomes we
and our froth
the world’s poetry,
soon, soon,
into each other
we merge and melt
and when someone asks
Who am I?
Who are you?
We look in each other’s eyes
and smile
as our silence whispers,
We, we are simple,
We are the moon’s white heartbeat,
We are poetry.

~

Morning…
I rinse my face
with the water
of your fragrance;
I fill my heart
with the cup
of your silence.

~

Each month
when the moon disappears
for a day or two
know it is sailing
the sea of her hair
down to its dark roots,
know that as she sighs
it will rise again,
rebirthed from her womb.