I'm losing my mind

Knock Knock,
I'm on vacation
this is a creation
with little elation.
the root of desperation.
I come with a situation:
My mind can't breathe.
In spite of the invitation
and serious contemplation
I can't seem to make myself
Think. Or Re-think
my mind is tinkering.
Trickling down my spine
with my body it intertwines,
and becomes one thing.
Regardless of inspiration
it all blurrs together
like waves crashing
into piers.
Knock Knock I'm gone.
Above and beyond,
My mind floats and goes
without catching hope
or feeling at ease.
Somewhat of a coma,
is happening within me.
and all I can do is let it be.
Knock, knock.

Take me to the museum

Take me to the museum,
kiss me between the paintings.
I want art to know
how we make art on the daily.
Let's show each piece
how we are a masterpiece.
Let's exhibit our kisses all over Paris
New York City, or Italy; this is a must see.
Show them that our love can conquer anything.
Let's give embraces to any critic who'll take them.

Take me to the museum.
Kiss me between the paintings.
Let's create something classic, modern,
maybe even contemporary.
I just want art to know,
that there is nothing more beautiful
than our love.

Flowers are nice

Everybody loves flowers.
Flowers are nice.
I'd give you flowers
but I know flowers die.

Instead, I write poems
about flowers and your smile.
I could also write about the hours,
the moments passing by.
Write about how time flies by,
whenever you are by my side.
I'm certain it conspires to expire
in the blink of an eye.

See,

I could give you flowers,
but I'd rather kiss your back.
I'd rather hold you closely,
and never let go of your hand.
I could write about the flowers, yes
those that grow in my insides.
They live in my stomach
and sway when I wake up
to your skin next to mine.

Everybody loves flowers.
but I know flowers die.
I'm gonna skip the flowers,
and offer you my time.

because even though hours turn into minutes,
and minutes into seconds, I can't deny,
nothing make me happier than an instant
in your arms.


yo. fuck flowers.

She has freckles like the Bing Bang did.

she has freckles
and i like to spend my days/nights with her
forgetting that we are floating in this space.
Nebula Bushwick is the galaxy we incorporate
inside orange sheets,
captured by the air conditioners' breeze–
i ponder, on how many freckles she has.
her soft skin, pale as a wedding veil,
is the perfect background for skin constellation.
i count these freckles with much elation
one by one. each by each.
sitting at the Sun's feet.
Listening to Donovan talk about yellow things–
she has freckles.
and every time i find a new one
it's like uncovering an uncharted island
in the archipelago of her body twitch–
my hands explore more and more,
the containment evaporates–
take off! "Houston, here we go!",
ashore i am left between the oceans of
her interstellar flow.
she has freckles.
like the stars in the night sky, I want our stars to
collide and bing bang all over the place.
Creating oceans, earth, wind and more–
Europa and all the continental moons
orbiting around us.
I want to be prettier than Venus,
with her and her freckles.