I hope you will allow me the freedom — to bring with it the satisfaction, to express my feelings. In my eyes, you are perfection, exemplified, magnified beyond reason and expression. I apologise not for saying these words. The moments spent with you were so brief. They were like stolen whispers in the dark that left one longing to hear more. When you were away — as far as eternity, it seems — my heart pined and starved. Thirsting for more, I longed to intoxicate myself in your presence. I reveal to you my innermost thoughts — of the nights I dreamt of savouring the taste of you, licking the salt from your skin and drinking the humdinger out of you, like the mosquito — the blood, the tree — the sap, you the sweat and the semen. You gave hope that passion still resides in being within another.
No more will I plough the barren fields. In the arms of desire, I embraced hope. From this knowledge, tomorrow, my heart will abound with the bounty.
Take these words in good heart, for they express my innermost thoughts bought to the surface like the salt particles crystallise in the sunlight that they reflect. My joy mirrored the happiness you brought, the planets becoming in the light of the sun. I hoped to see you — so that my heart would once again sing and rejoice in the delight this brings. The thought of you always brings unto me, revealed as a smile on my face, thoughts of youthful abandonment.
Watch the Water Flow.
The tap has been left on, into the cup it flows, filling it up. The water overflows, but I don’t care. I am experiencing the intensity of the moment — my thoughts to distil — this is not my desire. Lost in the moment, I feel the fire. I may perspire, for this be a madness that seizes me. Still, I do not seek release from its grip. The intensity of this insight — I pray, will never diminish. Let the water flow, bathe me in your sultry rain. In your thunderstorm, I stand. Quench not this heat that consumes my soul.
The Bitter is Sweet
This fire quenches not my thirst. Seldom have I felt such an intense flame; it burns with a rage that consumes my soul and leaves me smouldering. I shiver from the chill wind that scours my skin and leaves me numb. Descending into thoughts of you, I am gripped by fervour. My nostrils flare, my lungs expand, taking in the cold air, but this fails to diminish the heat. I drift into thoughts of savouring your blackberry flavoured lips. To get lost in your kiss, a feeling I pray will not cease. Elevated to a high, I stand at the precipice of an elevation. Gravity draws me down unto the contours of your body upon which to rest my head. Your skin I will kiss and mould with my lips — me on top of you, you on top of me. Our skins meld into each other: the moonlight kissing the waters and stones. I am consumed in lust. I am grip in the heat of a torrid passion. After tasting you, I no longer want the water to touch my skin, for I fear it may wash away your scents. Those that have permeated within. For, I am the rose caught amidst the heat of the midday sun.
Though I know he belongs to another, this knowledge fails to extinguish the feelings in which I am reeling. In their sight, will I be able to conceal the longing in my eyes? How can he expect me to have passion without feeling? Why ignite this fire and leave me alone to extinguish the flames, has he no compassion? I am released into the abyss and cast adrift. The ship broke free from its moorings; it drifts into the horizon, sailing to unknown distant shores. Oh father, free me from these binds. Emancipate my soul from unrequited love? Within this, my imagination is bond and imprisoned. I fear I may go insane. I know not the rules of these games — those who sunder dreams apart in the quest for momentary gratification. My only gain is their salutation.
Of beauty craved out of perfection, some know not the question, yet they believe they grasp the answer. I seek to hold the flower at any cost, even to the point of having the thorns embedded in my palms, in the vain hope of capturing beauty, and within this, I hope to find myself. I live a life furlong singing in the desert, hoping that this will extinguish this curse.
A Storm is Stirring — A Hurricane is Brewing.
He knows the strings of your heart. He posses the rhythm that mollifies my intense drifts. With sweet tongue, he cleaves a song, to your spirits delight, the words of which pacify your insecurities. To his music, you dance. Full of joy, you lose yourself in the merriment. Entranced, you dance as if the days will never cease. You fear that should the music stop, your fears will return. Alas! should the sunrise, for you to see the dawn, and all will be revealed. O Narcissus, upon gazing into the stream, what is it I see? Thy true self proclaimed? To myself, I should not be truthful? It is not the place where I should reside; it is a land full of false expectations that leads to unfulfilled dreams, those that are impossible to achieve because they are founded on false expectations.
Emancipation (The Dream)*
One stormy night a ship did sail across this ocean carrying a cargo of humans to distant shores. Enslaved — on this night, one of the captives took flight in a bid for freedom despite being aware of this action’s futility. Upon breaking free from the cargo bay, still dragging his ball and chain, he proceeded to climb over the ship’s hull. Taking a deep breath, filling his lungs with the ozone, he hurled himself into the stormy ocean. Sinking to the bottom, he lifted his head towards the stars.
Shining Brighter than Venus Tonight
A dark knight: I stand under the midnight sky, my amour capturing the white light of the stars from whence emerges an angel dressed in crimson and white, a colour that accentuates his coco-latte satin skin. Like a beacon, he illuminates the sky shining with more radiance than Venus does tonight. He hovers over the silver sea, scattering his light onto the crest of the waves as if attempting to steal the stars from the sky — bringing heaven to earth. Seldom has such beauty been seen by my eye. The waves crash above my head: the sound: a crescendo of cymbals shimmering in my mind. I awake from the dream. Still hovering over the sea, he proceeds to lie on his back as if floating on a bed of air. He reaches out his hands. At this point, I begin to ascend from the ocean floor whence I have laid for a hundred years. Slowly I break through the waves that crash against and caress my amour. The stars lights scatter from my silver armour as I ascend into the dark crystal sky.
My arms reach out to grasp his, at which point I catch sight of his face upon which beams a radiant smile. He parts his bronze lips beckoning me to kiss him. Manoeuvring my body, I proceed to position myself above him. Placing my lips unto his, I breathe in his musk, and I become flesh. Naked — our minds intertwine and merge into the infinite: our spirits stretching over the fabric of time and space. Emotions flow like waterfalls off a precipice. Our hearts burn — fiercer than the furnace of a thousand suns. Entwined in each other arms, we ascend the heaven shining brighter than Venus does tonight.
Men of Gods for Love is God.
For this, I have lived and suffered the mediocrity of superficial lovers. I covet thee, yet I know I have to break free. To be your friend — man could achieve no more remarkable feat. My feelings to conceal, returning to my armour to sink to the ocean floor, gazing up at the stars.
You said I make you feel like a woman. Tell me, how else should I make you feel? Should not a man love a man with the same passion as a woman desires a man? Would you prefer that I was cold, aloft and indifferent to your feelings? Would I not shed a tear upon touching your fears? What is your understanding of receiving and giving?
At dawn, should not the flower open upon feeling the heat of the sun? For, its existence is dependent on the sun, hence its celebration of being. It basks in the light and warmth of the yellow star. The beauty is that it came into being. Though it may wither, it has affected life. Like the flower to the sun, should I not adore you? Do you deserve any less? How can you love another when you do not perceive yourself as being worthy of the sensual?
Open your mind to the music inside of you: sense, the perception of the artist. Upon viewing a composition by Cezanne, feel the beauty, touch the colours, mould your mind to the forms and textures, for only then will you experience true beauty. Seek no less of yourself.
These words in no way seek to place questions in your mind. They instead convey the kaleidoscope of the emotions I have been experiencing over the past weeks. Meeting you has been a temerarious experience, akin to shoals’ schooling in predatory waters. I have plunged and ascended the deepest swells. Though I cannot be with you, I thank you for the insights I have acquired over the past few weeks. For, though I may sometimes feel weak — out of the desire to be with you — the end results of meeting you is that I have acquired new insights and upheld the divine. From this experience, I have gained new strength — (knowledge). This, I now know, is better than compromising myself in passionless encounters.
Once I would have said that I could learn to love someone for whom I initially felt no passion. This, I will now say, has been consigned to history. There might be many other facets of your personality that I have not experienced. However, this in no way diminishes those that I have embraced. In another life, another reality — your lover. In this reality, I have to be content with a platonic friendship. I find myself watching the dinghies bobbing on the Caribbean Sea, waiting for the sunset, dreaming of faraway lands where the sun ascends the sky.
*previously published separately, taken from this composition.