Have you ever seen
the sun ride
a bicycle of green?

When the countryside
gets caught in the spokes

—around seven forty-six,

&

the rosy cheeked horizon gets
paper cut on the wave of a
light white summer dress?

Have you ever tasted

a bird’s flight up there,
when its wing gets

stolen (sometimes swallowed
whole) by the currents licking
shapes into the clouds?

A heart, dog, or a caravel
for travel.

And in a straying look, have
you ever sprung

onto a cobweb and
found yourself swung

high on that rooftop, hanging
from the gutter? And in

a wink’s lick
swept away –back

down on the sidewalk
where wanders and thirsts the flower…

And the forsaken beggar.

How does the world feel
at its very end, how does
it feel on the eyes?

It tastes like sugar,
It grasps deep like where

the bosom lies,

it feels like ocean
bite on the skin,

it smells like a close, close
up with tender lips,

or
a shiver grazing on the hips.

It reads free like a verse
naked of its rhyme,

a pen’s
wound

on
paper flesh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_______________

Photo : SARITA ~ https://www.instagram.com/sarimundo/