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In the Beloved's Arms

Tag: kissing

Tanka # 198

December 8, 2019 Pierre MhannaLeave a comment

My eyes
opening them slowly
to my lover’s kiss –
No! It was just the roll
of distant thunder!

~

Her kiss
thunders in my head;
as it fades
it leaves my heart
drenched in warm rain.

Posted in Poetry, Sensual Droplets, Tanka PondTagged Intimacy, Kiss, kissing, Lovers, my poetry, Poetry, Tanka

Tanka # 57

September 26, 2015 Pierre Mhanna1 Comment

Breathless interlude…
kissing as the stars
one by one fade,
falling to the pond
on the edge of dawn.

Posted in Poetry, Sensual DropletsTagged Intimacy, kissing, Love, my poetry, Passion, Poetry

Kiss of Life

June 12, 2013 Pierre Mhanna2 Comments

Your mouth and mine,
parched riverbeds of desire
aching to merge in the grace of love and burst,
a flood of wild waters in the heart of life.

Posted in Love's House of Secrets, Poetry, Sensual DropletsTagged Desire, Kiss, kissing, Life, Love, lust, Passion, water

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By your grace | in winter's heart | flowers grow
Your painterly eyes... | the world a canvas | born of your sight, | a fluid river | of shadows and light.
Core of mystery, | Firebirds gliding along the inmost sky, | Secrets from radiant eyes weeping, | Living waters washing over the living heart.
From each set of eyes | a world of colour pours. | From each beating heart | the divine music of love.
Moonlit warrior | slicing through the air, | shards of silence.
Itinerant heart | In the source of now, sinking, | Rising a full moon.
Drinking the light of your face, | the fountain of my soul, | a lover's song bubbling with grace.
Born into colour, |The flower in spring’s white palm | Kissed by The One.
Flowers of chaos, | A wild tumult of colours | Vying for The One.
Full moon on the pond, | light breaking on cold water, | night, a silent breath.
At night, in your bed, | draw me over you | like a nightsky full of stars, | every star a kiss | melting into your skin | exhaling infinite sighs.
Love, | let me cradle you | as the sun cradles the earth, | heart, an infinite fountain | of joy and warmth.
What is my heart if not your home | where the sun itself | unfurls from your womb.

His Poem

Like furrows of stars | his words ploughed through her skin, | fevered kisses along her curves | condensed into burning ink
Beauty has her face for a name.
Cradled in love's embryonic water.
Blossoming | the tree transfigures the garden | as you, in my heart, | birth me as pure light.
Submerged in this flow, | The waters of his river | Carrying her home.
Love's exuberance - | Our tangled bodies the seat | Where the sun unfolds.
Brimming with devotion | He planted his heart, | A kiss in her womb.
Flying to the moon, | Twilight birds drunk | On your silent call.
As the sky holds the earth | he held her into him, | his kiss into her forehead melting | a vaporous stream of wine.
Moonflow melting | into the bay of dawn, | her face.
She, plume of shadow, | And he the nocturnal ink | Burning in her veins.
Macerated in silence, | my poem a white moon | sailing her blue dawn.
Enwombed by his touch, | the fragrance of his silence, | the breath his lungs heaves | to plant her in his heart, | forever in the abyss | of his fervent light.
In his touch | she longed to become, | poetry...
Entwined at the roots, | a bond taking them | beyond life and death.
A raindrop | hanging from the leaf, | falling, not falling.
Cheek to cheek | silently kissing, | a world born of love.
In the flowing stream | the light of the moon | is ever the same
Cradle of passion, | our soldered bodies melting, | house of flame and love.
This kiss – | Our open hearts | A single flame burning, | Subsumed into the living core, The heart of the One.
On the branch of dawn we swayed, | two birds lost in the silence | of our open hearts.
In the autumn wind | the howl | of lost voices
My poem I lit like a candle, | all night long she kept vigil | into the darkness casting | the firebirds of your name.
Inviolable | in the solitude of her soul | she stood, | the world like an endless poem | below her feet stretched.
Against the winter sky | bare branches stirring | the dust of memories
On her face | the flame flickered | a sea of memories
Shades of dawn – | the moon’s silent ache | sinking in the sea
Through the silent pines | the sun’s fading rays, | my heart | another bird | returning home.
Famished poem... | in the moonlight | her almond-flower skin | skyward heaving | a breathless sigh
In the glow of sunset | my heart alone travels | a ship without sails
Where am I? | In the whiff of your fragrance | Like a moth inside a flame | All sense of direction is lost, | And place is placelessness.
Quick to fade... | in the grey of dawn | the sigh of dewdrops
Silent joy of now… | a full moon whirling, | dervish in the sky
Moon | over the hill | wax in my dreams
My breaths... | shipwrecked poems | stranded in her skin, | stars burning | in a moonless night.
Perfume of passion... | in the twilight air | the fragrance of her hair, | a mystic voice calling | night from its lair.
How music is made... | bodies entwined | like crescent moons, | their light quivering | the soul of the night.
In her navel | the dewdrops of dawn | he gathers, | a fountain | of tender moss and milk | flowing | softer than the light.
All these words, | passion spilled | in burning dewdrops, | soliloquys I keep weaving | in the folds of her flesh, | in the cosmos of her skin | nebulas giving birth.
His touch bathes her in a sea of light
Moon through the window… | a sea of poetry | aglow in her skin
Pointe de flamme… | mon amour frémissant | au-dedans de son être, | troublant sa mer | en vagues infini, | chacune un oiseau | volant le ciel d’aurore.
Sobbing with desire | light in tender waves | relishing her skin, | Eros vanquishing | the absurdity of night.
Dawn, | the sprawl | of their bodies | in the languid light, | the effervescence | of a poem | that burned | through the night.
Searing her skin | his night of poetry
The length of her back | a roaring sea, | a canvas of dark waves | in each shaded breath screaming... | poetry
My teardrops | on her collarbones | hewn, | poems in her body | germinating | a cradle of fire, | the love ocean | where I am born.
Amid the shadows | I flourish… | moon in the sky
Light along her skin | erotica in sultry curves | exuding clouds of incense, | a softness that melts | the heart to poetry.
Her skin | in the night wind | a script of ache | kissing each breeze | into a ribbon | meandering the sky | searching for home
At dawn | a feather plucked | from your ribs | from the dewed ether | glides into my soul | and I sigh knowing | that you exist
We danced like this | alone | in the darkness | where no one sees | even when we were | in a crowded room | full of prying eyes
The exquisite pain of fire | curling along her fragile neck, | the unbearable gentleness | that brings each poem to tears.
From the nooks of her neck | my poem draws its breath, | a bird inhaling | the expanse of the sky.
Opening | the gates of fire, | against your breasts | the soft press of poetry, | two flowering moons | shaking full of mead.
Writing her skin | in endless streams | as her veins turn, | highways of stars, | streets where lovers | join and meet.
Envisioning her womb, | the timeless mandala | where the seasons turn, | the timeless wheel of life | dancing its dance.
In the deeps of darkness | your voice was the starlight | leading me home
Free to walk the earth as a rain drop dissolved in the ocean of the beloved
Autumn’s playground… | the peel of lost voices | blowing in the air
Shared whispers | on the branch of dusk... | the promise of forever
Stranger to the world… | behind far hills the | cold moon sinking
In the fire of your eyes | poetry sheds her veils | and enters wordless, | its one desire to live | rooted in your heart.
A cup of tea | warming my hands… | moon over the snow
I see her and fill with ache, burn to merge with her in a totality of being that leaves no space between our bodies.
A poet's life... | from a branch in the mist | a bird calling
Dusk over the woods… | amid the rustling leaves | a world of shadows
All the roads spread | From the root source | Of her heart. | Traveling I always | Roamed through her veins, | Swam in her blood.
The poet, | A silent assassin | Wielding her skin, | A blade of words | Plunged | In a sea of fire.
Year after year | My green tea | Darker and more bitter, | Growing old | With my books.
Miniature fig tree | In the shadow of your leaves | Garden poetry

Haiku Pond

Haiku pond | the shadow of a bird | passing at dusk
The crow's black caw | a dagger stabbing | the heart of the moon
الشمس على عري جسدها | كل أغصان الربيع | تترنح ثملة
Come join me | a cup for two | filled with spring’s | holy nectar
In the fog | the limbs of cut trees | wailing
When I knew the highs of your kiss | I no longer drank, | I no longer prayed, | and all my poetry was writ | with the salve of your lips.
Le soir jette | son manteau noir ; | dans la mer de sa peau | mon cœur bat | en fleurs-étoiles.
Agé de dix mille ans | le haïku fleurit… | lune dans la rivière
Wild the dream | the moon's whirling skirt | a sufi in the sky
You the poem | I the poetry, | my blood in your skin | a transparent calligraphy, | the spread wings of birds | combining the sky.
A ship longing | for its lost harbor… | her breath at dawn
All day all night in | her skin | dancing with the muse, | each etched verse | a chess move; | the spiral culminates, | checkmate, orgasm, poetry.
Joined still | when dawn breathed, | a single body | jasmine white | quivering on the breast | of sleep as it heaved.
A small cabin | in the heart of the woods, | snow falling thick | erasing everything, | and you and I | hemmed in, |by the window | drinking tea or wine | and reading poetry.
Faded blue | waiting for a letter… | the mailbox of love
Red and luscious | it hangs from your bough, | the last of my poems, | the summer of my hopes.
Her warming flow of wine | in the early morning chill, | the areolas of her breasts | flowering starlike | amid my thirsty lips.
The street and its people | fell away from them, | a world warped | by their gravity, | the magnetism of their kiss, | their deep immersion | in the moment’s poetry.
The sun has set, | through the waves of the night | I sift | searching for a curl | of your voice | to tuck against my heart, | a spark from your eyes | to light a candle | in the darkness of my soul.
In dawn’s still hush | the breath of poetry | rubs against her cheeks; | full of sighs the wind | pours with dew.
Moon in the river | alone crossing | the banks of autumn
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.
In my teacup | steeping | the white leaves of the moon
Clad in fog we vanished | into the mystic mountain of union, | inseparable we rose again | breathing open | wide as the sky.
In my book of love | and so long as I can remember I| ’ve been writing you | a poem each day.
My poem, a solitude on a journey of no return sailing ever deeper into you.
Her body she offers, | a sea to be crafted | by the ink of his fire, | exalted on the altar | of lust and poetry.
Love was between us | and she was a tailoress, | fitting my poems | to the curves of her skin, | the sinews of her breath.
The anchor of your breath | once fell into me, | now my skin is all rust | from the salt of your sea.
Shriveled kisses | in the midst of winter… | figs clinging still | to the promise of the sky
Locked in exile | until a word comes from you; | word after word | I chronicle my exile and imprisonment, | my hidden journey with you.
Her healing presence, | merging with him | she lights his fire | when it dwindles, | unafraid of his dark | she sees into him, | moves into him, | rooting his heart | in her boundless love.
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.
منسلاً عند الفجر | القمر فوق السطوح مداعبا | عري جسدها
The fountain of life's water, | the birthplace of the moon.
Lune sur mer… | mon cœur un piège | de vent nomade
God painting the world dipped his brush in the inkwell of her body

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

Listening intently to the music interweaving the waters of their souls.

Unknown Artist, Somewhere in France
On the trail of leaves | I lost my mind | gazing at the moon...
From the empty chairs | her silhouette still watching | the dark rolling sea

Hazmieh, February 2018

Even an ugly city | can be beautiful… | falling rain
Things half whispered… | between us | a candle-light world | merging the sighs | of our aching souls
Sans un frémissement | d'avoir longtemps bu le ciel | la feuille tombe
Tangled | until nothing remains | but a moment in God
Douma, Lebanon, May 27, 2018 Again and again | what I lost came back to me... | a traveler on the road.
I always sit | with the shadow of you, | something impalpable | yet somehow bigger | than the earth and sky.
More than I could gather | in a lifetime of work… | moonlight in a drop of dew
Terre natale… | dans sa peau à miel de lune | la fleur de la rosée
Moon at dawn... | today I choose | to surrender to your light
Silence takes me down | to the roots of poetry | and I find them rising | from the sea of your heart
If you really listen | you can hear it... | the silence of the sky
Through the window | of my longing | the first light of the year
Like freshly fallen snow, its immaculate whiteness keeping track of the slightest movement of animals, trees, and wind, her skin holds the traces of my words as they drip from my pen, as they stir in my soul.
Children of a day | the flower that blooms at dawn | at dusk falls away
Vêtue d’amour | la rosée de son souffle | choyant ses joues / Clothed by love | the dewdrops of his breath | caressing her cheeks
From a crack in the wall | a weed sprouts... | the flower of street art
As the hills slept | the city awakened, | its little fires | scattered like stardust | over the breasts of the earth.
Weaved into my ribs | this longing is a window | filled with her light
Through the withered grass | a winding path… | the journey itself is home
To an unheard music | waltzing at dusk… | the pine tree and the moon
Autumn crossroads… | my heart a bird, | my soul a cloud
Filled with longing | my heart cracked open, | its many jeweled chambers | crimson with the fire | of my beloved's lips.
قلبي وما بقي منه | طيور تهاجر | في قمر الخريف
Winter moon, January 2020, Lebanon
Winter moon | in your light I weave | my dreams of a warm summer
Winter twilight… | in the light of sunset | my dissolving years
My touch in her skin | a wave at dawn unfurling | a white frothing sea
Spring twilight | I sip my tea and gaze | at the rising moon
A part of me will always be that shy, lonely boy, standing by the edge of the wood and with deep eyes looking at the mystery of the world. Photograph by Massao Yamamoto
Relished slowly | with yearning lips | the wine I poured | into the hollows | of her collarbones
The old village wall... | I pass my fingers | over its stones and ask them | what they remember
هذا الشِعر – رحيقُ الضَوء وهوَ يرتَدّ عَن بَشَرَتِها
Everyone have left | the road of my life | deepens into the sunset
I look at it, this world,
and in my eyes the last ray
of a setting sun
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