Be my other half of the moon. Let's be one, let's join our lights. Through the fog and dark clouds we wrapped ourselves in. Wake me up. And I will not let you fall asleep. You will sing and I will dance. Our home is among the stars. I know you love their melody as much as I do. I have heard it in your eyes.
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,
Join me on the roof and talk to me
till the dawn comes and washes us away.
I am all yours.
Apparently, we reflect each other’s lights
not letting them die.
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…
Because of their power,
incredible force the world was afraid of.
A tribe of one rib,
With a scream planted in a mouth by God.
For the pain cannot be left unsaid.
If you open your wings
to the wind we blow into it,
do not close your ears to
the words it carries.
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.