“Just”

I have nothing special to offer.

I am just a handful of stardust.
If I fit your sky, smudge me on it.

If you can dance to the music
that puts my particles into motion,
take me, lie next to me and melt
while it caresses us …

If you can hear my eyes whisper
like I can hear yours
put your arms around me and be.

If the night calls you to stare at the moon,
come.
Join me on the roof and talk to me
till the dawn comes and washes us away.

I am all yours.

I am the sky, the stars that reflect you.

Angels

There are men who deserve to be loved
just because of their eyes, naked souls
which whisper straight to your heart.

Star dust, soulmate, God’s elemt.
Call it whatever you want,
there are no words explaining that bond.

Men you do not need to meet or touch
to offer them all the world’s love
right from the moment you first heard them,
or looked into their pure, heavenlish sad eyes.

Only God knows why we miss them when they are gone.
Why we feel like if someone ripped out a piece of us…
A piece we never knew we had.

And probably only God knows why
men who deserve that kind of
unconditional, inexplainable love
decide to give up and leave
while our hearts are broken into pieces
and refuse to accept their absence.

Even wind smells, feels and sounds like them…

 

In loving memory of magical Chris Cornell who has touched my life in a very strange and inexplainable way about 8 years ago… My heart, my mind will always miss your sparkle…

Instead of flowers he brought me a poem

Interntional Poetry Day ! 21.03.2017
It was so rewarding to see that so many people enjoyed our event !
Also, thank you for voting for my poem, even though you didn’t know who the author was 🙂

“Red, red, black, black, red, red”

Wardrobe filled with white and grey,
drawers full of black stockings and silky panties.

Blond fluff soaked with raindrops and whispers.
Goddess- shaped alabaster body
lying on the kitchen floor.

Blue eyes hidden in a fog,
shiny, carmine lips half open,
sipping wine from a man’s hand.

Bony wrist decorated with a golden watch
that stopped at twelve o’clock.

Bedroom air perfumed with roses.
A dried daisy on the nightstand.

Call her Elizabeth and count to fifty.

Listen to her steps fading in the hallway.

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“Fall”

She dropped of her
red dress and sunnish wreath.

Walked through the town naked.

Everything went silent.

Her body was steaming
as she swayed in the chilly, evening air.

I was left in the middle of
soft, scented fog
with a bouquet of dried roses.

Before washing away behind clouds,
in the dimmed moonlight,
I felt her silky lips
kissing me goodbye.

Magic got soaked back into the sky
to float among the star dust.

I will wait for you to make it rain.