Rintrah

Like a volcano of emotion expressed in a song,
The movement emulates urgency
And the relapses of muscular mechanism fall into a dance.
This heart skips too many beats to count.

So I sing of songs in silence,
To the hum of my breath as my legs break into a run.
Far into the abyss of my past,
These kisses prolong, but the first I will never forget.

Like water, my skin swam into pores,
A perfect fit; the crevice of my distant body as it
lingered,
And a child-like innocence returned,
As I willed to be reborn.

I remember the yearning in my abdomen,
For the forsaken memory of a love so distant,
And when I see the music flow in you,
It reminds me of the babe who played with broken toys on the
pavement

A splash of wave took her tiny jewels away,
She picked flowers to be her friends and trees to be magical
escapades.

I smile only to pretend to be content
A feeling I cannot share with the world
For without sorrow,
Who are we?

And without love,
Who am I?

Questo Amore!

I am made of glass.
I speak with reflection
I walk with care
I do not dare break
Into a billion little pieces.

I am made of crass metal sheen.
I listen with inane attention
To every word you throw away
I do not dare solute
Into a million little pieces.

I am made of apples and cinnamon
I taste like jam; like spices
This pull of gravity weighs me
towards roots
I do not dare fall
And break into a thousand little pieces.

I am made of salt
I act with deliberate gestures of
coarseness
This bitterness is only a
fleeting flaw
I do not dare dissolve
And break into a hundred little pieces.

I am made of water
I am only as fickle as my
thoughts
This wave of emotion will subside
I do not dare burst
Into a ten little pieces.

I am made of Earth
This clay porcelain came of heat
and combustion
This anger is the only source of
my heartbeat
I do not dare melt
Into one little piece.

That is you.

That is clear. Opaque. But. Clear.