I walk with a recollection of your lips.
The clear image, vivid in my head.
I am a breath apart, from you.
You talk, I do not listen , to the words.
I stare fixated at the voluptuousness of one lip, a gap and then another.
I yearn to kiss, you, them.
Moments pass, slowly I approach.
I signal for your lips to come nearer, as I approach with mine.Sensation is so real.The lips touch each other. Yours touch mine, mine yours.Some framed it as a Kiss.
Four letters to describe the world.
Limitation of a word.The warmth, the softness, the sense of flesh. All comes down to that word.
No! Not at all!
I walk the streets with yesterday’s sensations in my head.
This is the material which dreams are made of.
This is the substance which fantasy is fuelling.
This is belief.
The recollection is so real.
How can I trust a memory to guide me
What was real?
What was illusion?
Is a dream illusion? Is reality?
Is not a memory merely a fragrance of past illusion?
Call it what you please, changes the difference not.
The power to embrace illusion, brings reality to life.
The power to surrender to a dream, brings fantasy to life.
Not manifestations of dreams and fantasies, beliefs that they are real.
This is their essence, their fragrance, taste.
Like bubbles of ideas, several come to be true, alive.
Most pop in open air inside my head.I kissed you yesterday
that I believe.
Whether you were kissed, or not, by me, in real, matters not.
I finally can see the peace and sweetness in dreams and fantasies.
and I gave up naming it
Leaf Wind Ground
Autumn has past as the leaves made their last dance, falling from the tree’s branches and landing each and every one in its own gracious moment.
The ground, ready to receive at once each falling leaf, had not made itself ready for the catch.
As the leaf not being prepared to softly nor abruptly land, so the ground has not spread arms wide to embrace nor disgrace that timeless act.
The leaf came closer to the ground being circled by the wind.
The wind, as wishing to suspend that inevitable moment, made its last blow at the falling leaf.
The wind, the temporal suspension, the leaf, the ground.
Not waiting nor ready.
Their language was of another kind.
Which I comprehended not.
My thought of the leaf crossing to the other side at changing amplitudes, an ever changing one, attempted a suspended roll inside.
As the thought passed on to the next moment of the leaf, the ground remained.
The wind still playing its game of temporality was now blowing through another leaf.
One leaf abandoned that endful game, arriving at the ground, head first.
At a velocity of sunset in a summer day, the leaf spread wings to land.
Aware of that constant change of the wind behind playing with its fellow leaves, that leaf denounced its clinging to the wind.
Solid earth, temporal in permanency, appears insusceptible to change.
“Change arrives at all and you my dear will be fallen soon as well.” , exclaimed the leaf to earth.
With these words the leaf contacted earth and stayed for rest.
Its flock united as the play with wind unwound.
The wind vanished all at once, felt but unseen.
Its trails are only sensed through recollection.
At a duration which might have lasted many summer days, until the summer was no longer named, the earth had fallen too.
The words of leaf are ever lasting in duality of constant changing states.
Where earth has reassembled, that I never got to know.
The stories, from Genesis to Jesus’s colt or filly foal, were only fictitious as much as factual.
I swear I have it all somewhere.
My genuinity – I left with you. As you sailed upon your storyboat into winter’s horizon, to fill up reservoir’s existence with nectar of fragmented memories.
I rest assure that your story even untold, will unfold