You have blown so many answers in this thin air,
it can’t hold them anymore.
And I am making a mess out of the damp memories just to find the withholding answers.
You closed your eyes once and people walked down the streets in nomadic romanticisms.
You undressed your white nipples and all these defeated automobiles accelerated for last disappearing friction.
But the storm between your legs,
that’s for me…that’s for me only…
That’s for the every nights I dissolved inside the coward selfishness…
That’s for my Nirvana without blue bottled whiskey.
I see men and women getting used to the temperature of each other’s hands
and taking flames inside their veins everytime those merged hands get pierced by mortality.
I don’t want that.
I am functional for my isolations and those senseless hours with you after countless days…
I have been made into a broken rocket out of my old desires and far away orgasms…

……………………………………………………………

Photograph: Google.