With my mouth I lean down to where the sun kissed her skin, and I feel the warmth caressing my lips, fragrant, succulent, the sun rays turned to a wine filled with her essence, and I drink slowly as I feel it in my heart, a love too big for the earth and sky.
Around us the world turned like a mad vortex as we kissed, filled with noise yet still, covered with endless veils yet transparent as we kissed and kissed until the end of the world.
I heard her words, but I listened to her silence
استمعت الى كلماتها، ولكن أنصتّ الى صمتها.
ان أصبحت شاعراً فذلك لكي أتمكن، يوماً ما، من قراءة المجرات والنجوم وهي تدور في فلك بشرتها.
Like a vast kiss the rain fell as we stood in the river clasped against one another, gazing into the distance as the riverflow went on disappearing into the fog; we kissed, then closed our eyes, listening to the silence making us one with the river, the fog and the falling rain.
“For if you desire anything which is not in our power, you must be unfortunate,” says the philosopher Epictetus. Yet, a thousand times unfortunate for desiring you and not having you, than one time fortunate for not desiring you at all. I welcome the fate of your unrequited love, and bless it as a higher fate any other in which I have not known your love at all.
Sealed in a kiss this gift of longing I received from you is an ever aching thorn burning in my heart
His kisses on her skin grains of incense left to smolder and cover her in a sharp fragrance of jasmine and lust, filling her lungs with a slow fire burning up to her mind, spreading through her blood, maddening her senses with an ever growing yearning to be claimed by their bond.
A lifetime is too short for me to say what I see when I look in her eyes
What helps you live prepares you to die.
With poetry I long to photograph her soul
With you, my unknown women always seated next to me, I long for an earth-shattering connection, deeper than the sea, wider than the sky.
Dressed in the form of the woman I love God came to me, and our union was His prayer, and our kiss His holy wine.
Drinking her lips I slowly take in whatever God had meant by blessing the wine, by giving existence His breath of life.
Loneliness in a relationship results from a lack of emotional openness and vulnerability in the couple’s intimacy, so one is left second guessing what the other is feeling or thinking, and is unable to truly connect with the other’s mind and heart.
She hated the camera yet when I photographed her with poetry’s lens she looked into my eyes asking me to bare her a little more, a little deeper, to photograph her soul.
When I touch you my heart is still, like a star being reborn into the vastness of the sky.
Her light is nourishment for my soul.
Dawn on the still breeze I feel a window open between our hearts
A lonely cabin in a lost wood, fire in the chimney, empty bottles of wine, his voice reading as her head rises and falls to the heave of his chest while his arm surrounds her, the falling night outside hiding them from the eyes of the world.
Her perfume of choice – all that touches her skin burns with the poetry of his touch
To love her is to touch her heart where a hidden world lives silently waiting to be known and be filled with light
Je t’aime, il lui dit, non pas avec ses mots, mais avec sa présence, avec son attention, avec ses yeux.
With his touch he fuels her fire, clothing her in the silk of kisses and tender words, listening to the heartbeats pulsating in her skin, uncovering the love in her yearning eyes, feeling through her to her depth that is wider than the sky.
Self-sufficient or so I thought until I felt her presence and learned what it means to be alive
في صدريَ ملاكٌ اسمُهُ حُبُكِ.
Love, my silent tormentor.
Not over her skin but into her soul his gaze glides rushing and frothing in seas and rivers and reaching deep down into an endless sky
He breathes out and she aches to breathe him in, cradle his breath, a fire growing inside of her.
Every day I start it with a poem, my own way of looking into your eyes and telling you I love you, you who is not here but lives in the beatings of my heart.
Each dawn this ache in my chest with your soft voice says – ‘here, I am inside of you, wherever you go you always carry me in your heart’
امرأة بلا اسم (اسمها الشعر) امرأة بلا وجه (وجهها ضياء الفجر) امرأة بلا عطر (عطرها الحنين) امرأة بلا وجود (هي كل زمن وكل مكان) امرأة بلا صوت (صوتها همس في الصلاة) امرأة في قلبي ،تفيض من عمق أشواقه ،تغمره ولا تحتويه ،تشربه ولا ترويه ،تحرقه فتحييه امرأة هي الحب بذاته .والوجه الخفي للاله
melt into her
and I touch her
where she has never
I touch her heart
I touch her soul
I light a fire in her blood;
I welcome her darkness,
I embrace her light
and I feel her in my heart
growing deeper than the earth
shining brighter than the sun;
I take her everything,
her past, present, and I future,
and I give her the gift
of my masculine heart:
I open her to God,
I open her to life,
and in that connection
I become a man
living his days
to the fullness of his heart.
Lived simply, in deep attention and presence, a life can be so full that its echo reverberates to the stillness of the stars — the garden’s dust on my shoes, a good book, a cup of aged wine, and your face, beloved, hovering around all things like a cloud, their inner light, their intimate aura. I write to you today as the sun sets over another autumn day, as the wind withers away the leaves and grass leaving nature and my thoughts bared down to their essence. Time is moving and life is trickling away, yet a deeper stillness is settling in my heart. It feels to me as though, if I lift my hand, I could almost touch your face; as though the warmth of your breath is mingled with mine. This silence is a prayer. I listen to the wind in the yellowing leaves. I write another poem penned with the ink of your love.
His words in her ears… Seashells divulging the secret of the sea ~ A la table du poète devant l’encrier songe le vieux papier ~ Ses cheveux noirs maison aux eaux coulants au fond de la terre ~ Matin brisé par la brume… Le souffle de la mer ~ A l’abri du silence la chandelle fane lentement la nuit ~ Peignant la nuit le noir de ses cheveux. ~ Notre amour dans dix milles ans… Etoile sur la mer ~ Eight to five job… the bird at my window teasing with his smile ~ Haiku pond the shadow of a bird passing at dusk ~ Fallen in love… The changed color of her eyes
Her eyes were
like a book of poems
the moon read
to the earth at dawn
To lover her
is to see them
in her eyes
as they are birthed
in the fire of her heart.
One day I long to tell you that I love you in the simplest of ways, not with words but with silence, in the shiver of wind between us, as my eyes sink into yours and our souls merge finding in us a single ocean to house our dance with infinite grace.
With my hand on her hip I love to feel it, the power of life undulating as it surges from her belly; in the silence, alone, remembering her eyes I love to feel it, the ocean of love rushing from my heart.
As the sun sets
I am sitting here
sipping tea and waiting
for your voice
to rain down on me
from the passing clouds
هي تصعد في دمي كدوار البحر كملاك يسبح في الغمام كشعلة محترقة في خشب ينضح بالنبيذ
All flowers bloom
propelled by a dream:
that one day
they will be plucked
the curls of her hair.
In her heart
she was looking
for a piercing gaze
that would open her
that would deliver her
to the altar of God.
In the heart
of my darkness
I found a light,
when I listened
the syllables of your name.
She lives in me as the sea –
still at its heart,
endless in its expanse
ebbing and flowing,
rushing and foaming
for all eternity.
From within this abyss
of space and time
I sing to her,
and this song
is my healing grace.
From behind I
at her bare shoulders
and slender neck,
this delicate flower
with a head stooped
full of heady nectars,
and my fingers ache to dance
and my lips ache to taste,
reveling in a woman
whose light fills my heart
with the joy of poetry.
a window to a mystery
I long to unravel
day after day
night after night
With every poem I am learning to touch you in a different way, in a new way, but always like a wave aching to unfold in your heart. Poetry— the choreography of my verses caressing your skin in their longing to experience the sanctity of your heart.
By the shore she stood waiting for him, listening to his voice coming through the mists and wetting her cheeks, her fingers yearning to caress his beard and raise to her lips the salt of its white years.