A Hindu god, an elephant head
Sacred symbols, from a thousand year ago
Clothed in time’s fine delicacies
Beige white silk and golden embroidery
Draped over her ivory beige smooth
Pretty face maiden, like my mom
A crown of flowers on her head
His admiration of me is far away
And I get to learn about
Big picture problems
In the inner circle
Places made of fine earth, tan and beige
Spinning earth, below the mountains and on the valley
There’s a brick wall and people who live in tiny rooms that I enjoy watching
But it gets turned into high rails for a speedy subway systems
That engines through brick gaps and bumps, and I wonder if it’ll throw me out into the ocean while it titters around
Hindu god with the head of an elephant
Ancient beliefs upheld so dear
I dreamt about a god…
You have a way of surprising me. Your show-stopping eyes… I swear that it’s still; it’s a painting. You’re a piece of some marvelous artwork. When I least expect it, you walk into the room and just glow
heaven’s pure white light.
The life in your face
The sun’s tender kisses on your skin. I didn’t know you could almost be my tone.
Who are you, who are we?
You have an uncanny ability
To leave me breathless.
That stark white collar against the back of your darkened neck. An unexpected bolt of lightning electrifies my heart. You look back for a split second, and stagger at my golden hue. I’m glad I could do it to you. Glad you could see it too. I always thought I could outshine you, but you out-did me boy. I’m stupefied. With those shimmering stubbles framed around your nape,
(Can I touch it?)
That look of utter demand you carry. Do you want me to say something?
Standing before me. Made of sleek, smoking ice
Making me burn
Dancing, at your feet.
Pink and blue evening,
inside, a champagne spritzing of simmering gold.
Your lips, soft and mellow, smiling at my reflection from the glass.
My eyes, kaleidoscope with your vision
moving in a direction, inching closer to your face.
Blinds, over the window
hold back the dusk light dying to crack in
while the music sings, and the iris of your eyes dance to a tune
The lyric scalds and scuffs,
and your smile; smiles again in a repetition that only makes you so much more distant
in this shimmering haze of golden dust.
My dress, black, for you
to touch you
lips painted in pink, laughing
leaves a trace on the glass
while the world waltzes around its golden rim
immersed in placid
She was born amidst an ocean of marigolds, unravelling herself within the golden globe