“Your name landed on my lips like december snow and slept there forever like a baby.”

I’m the ocean swaying with the harmony of your moon.

Gift him flowers and watch him blushing like even fall.

You’re breathed all over the walls of my lungs and I don’t know how to breathe you out.

You can always wear armor of your smile as a remedy for this world full of damaged souls.

Music is a weed, we all fallen souls are high on.

Ever since I met you, love wore the shade of your eyes.

When she’s drenched in agony and soaked in pain, her smile holds the art this world is dying to learn.

Unlike our flesh and bones, our souls always share a common religion. The religion of art.

Her aura was warm and I was a naive sunflower, leaning towards her.

You can see heaven or earth in her pupils when she’s smiling, and happy for real.

I hope my poem touches your soul and tickles your feet. As it is a river, river of my molten heartbeats.

Death is the mercy of life on us.

Let me be a poem freely hung in your diary. Like the moon, on the night sky.

Your eyes looking into mine, this is how two eclipses collide.

Darling, do not teach your stars to shine. Teach them how to embrace the darkness.

He’s shy, he talks to her only. She’s bold, she listens to him only.

I should have known the moment your lips met mine that we were having an affair with borrowed time.

I take the lit cigarette from your mouth and put it between my lips. I only wanted to know how you taste.

I hope when she touches you it burns holes into your skin and leaves scars where my lips would have been.

True love should give you the taste of sugar on your lips, and not the salty aftertaste of tears.

Your lips were soft and tender, warm like september. Every moment spent with you made me feel wild and brand new.

I’ve gotten a lot of things wrong in my life, a lot of missteps I’ve taken in strife; but one thing I’m certain i’ve always gotten right, is the feel of your lips so soft and so light.

On my knees, lips slightly parted thirsty, ready for a strong stiff one. Make it neat I love the burn.

Have I been buried alive by chronic pain? I can taste the dirt as they put me in the earth, thick on my lips like the honey that drips down my lips.