I am September.
The voice of autumn,
with tomorrow in the fog,
in the landscape of colorful warm blankets,
with painted, last rays,
who are still delighted
and they cry with words,
which have wings,
to fly away from the language,
there to call echoes in the ears.
I am the voice of the harvest of blood,
matured fruit and fruits.
My eyes feel love,
which dries in the well of the heart.
I'm losing with distance
And if I carefully think,
I don't want to be just a hand on my shoulder
to someone who means a lot to me,
but he is not repeated,
because there is no time
and it's like a lost treasure.
*
Your phone is drunk with calls.
Your eyes are like trash.
And the soul is not sad
because you aren't here.
Wishes list doesn't know your name.
Why should man take time for man,
which has time only then,
When he wants it
and the next moment disappears
and returns again over time,
When he looking for attention,
when he's bored again?
To be everywhere and nowhere
pick up the best,
with as little as possible effort,
is the faith of the selfish world,
who doesn't know love.
How different we are.
*
When you fall down in her lonely,
emerald green eyes,
you hear her mysterious voice,
like the whisper of the wind in the ear,
that echo in the depths of her soul
and you see her shadow,
with broken rays entering into your traces,
through the door of your heart.
And when echo of call
Opens the kiss as a flower
on your lips,
Your eyes are open lakes
and in the heart the ice melts,
light is brighter,
and you drink all the way to the bottom,
because the day is full of dreams.
Her smell teases you.
And your body is thirsty.
*
Night again covers a land
and peace is in home.
Smell of your eyes is sad
in lonely, autumn night.
You're asleep as someone lights out.
Your black hair smells good on pillow.
Your mouth is dry.
Your hands are like naked, wet autumn branches.
Your flanks are passions without red language.
Far side on other hill,
from dreams wake me up your face like a beast,
which screams like love words from a distance.
From memory fall pictures of the steps
near rocky marine coasts.
Nothing to feel anymore,
nothing more to want,
It's hard.
To be just a stone
in the sea of your love,
it's hard.
When night in the morning wake up,
my hands bring me coffee.
And I wonder,
Are you just a black devil with cat eyes,
who torture me?
*
Peace and quiet are heard in the air.
Dreamy September is saying goodbye
And October is knocking on door.
Every day is a little less day.
Rays of autumn sun fade,
as flames of dying candles burns.
Trees are full of naked hands.
Wind wears leaves and biting bones.
Chestnut lies on the ground.
And when your eyes
are drunk from her smell,
with gold dreams,
sweet taste is on your language.
But without your words,
without your smiles
and without your kisses,
still so large love
dies in silence with night.
*
The wind brought her lips, eyes and black hair.
You pick her shadows in silence
And you walk for the language of the sun
after the sleepy autumn forests.
Your thought needs peace.
What you didn't,
You look in the palms of the autumn leaves.
Your heart is bread and your blood is wine,
who waiting for her mouth.
Drops from the forehead fell to the ground
with a smell after her.
Do you wonder,
Is writing for someone,
You will never know him nonsense,
such as nonsense
To lose time for a cavalry
princes on white horses,
which cross the landscape
and for which you do not know,
whether they are just frauds on gray donkeys,
dressed in masquerade?
*
Between you and me
there are no real touches,
not hugs, no kisses.
Your beauty is silent
without breath.
Everything that can hear my eye,
see my heart is,
to know you,
as long as you are,
even if you are not here,
and your perfume
in my nose doesn't smell.
Let me write a new beginning,
And with the eraser I delete old words
And I'll draw you in my head again?
No! I still have my face,
arms, legs, silence and my voice.
I'm waiting for you.
*
Everything in black between lies and truth.
Your soul is towed by bergls.
Your eyes are open
As windows for desires.
Your breath fuels hope.
Your lips are bloody with blood drops.
As long as you are a sweetheart
and your kisses are deep,
You will not grow old.
Being a woman,
As a touch of warm hands on the face,
Is it really so hard?
*
I'm not dead.
I'm like sand,
Like tears falling through the palms.
The bed is our sandbox.
The touches are all,
that the flower of passion is burning.
And maybe this is the time
I live like a dried spruce,
It was attacked by a loubadar,
I'll be your lover,
with the shoulder for your breath
and you will not grow old,
because we will be stumbling on stones,
and flew into the sky.
You can bite me.
You can be pure gold,
because we will not wake up,
not now never,
because we will meet
only on stations.
*
In the aftermath of December,
desires are breathed
among many flashing lights.
Money buys gifts for Christmas.
It lights up the joy
between the gray days without the sun,
falling into the depths of the eyes.
This world is full of beautiful words
without taste
and without seeds
and eyes are fumes without dreams.
The soul is empty
and the palm is empty.
*