II Senses XV: His Hands, Your Memory

For every hand

That lands on my skin,

I think about your fingers

Running through my body

Leaving shivers

on every inch they get to touch

For every mouth that

plants tiny kisses on mine,

I think about your lips

Tracing my neck

And leaving marks

As proof of your presence

For every movement that shakes

my humanity to the core,

For every thrust that sends

shudders of pleasure down my spine,

For every pounding as strong as the beating of my heart,

For every man who goes through my body,

I think about you

And how I’d still want you

to bury yourself

deep within inside me.

II Senses XIV: The Scent of Leaving

The moment I left your bed

with the small spots of euphoria

we shared over night,

your smell stayed

beneath the rim of my shirt

If I stayed

I would be left

holding on to it

until islands and oceans started to grow

between the tip of our middle fingers.

I never knew

how wild flowers and berries

smelled in paradise

or how the Gods looked like in heaven,

but I knew that you were one —

You were one

I dreamt about every night,

when you planted tiny kisses

on my back

as though

you were picking gummy bears

with your mouth

leaving your scent

in every part of my body

until I started to smell

exactly just like you.

II Senses XIII: Tasteless Memory

There is something about sipping coffee

that makes me remember you

as I type every letter that describes

how I feel for you right at this moment;

your bitterness still flows through my veins

like blood that I can never live without,

I drink you and your memories away

and watch as your name goes down

the very bottom of my message list

I can still taste you

on the edges of my lips

It has been more than one-hundred days,

my love, it’s not all the same;

you and I, we’re now just a tasteless memory.

II Senses XII: Walls

You broke down my imaginary walls

the moment you pushed me

against the glass divider

standing proudly across us;

when you lifted both of my legs

and wrapped them

around your body,

you wrapped my heart

with the warmth of your caresses.

How easy was it

for you to invade the inner part

of me the way your fingers

colonized my sternum

as droplets of water trickled

upon our burning skin?




Yet fulfilling.

At long last

You met me

And tore down my walls.

II Senses XI: Effection

It isn’t about who you are

that makes my knees tremble

and my heart flutter

like a little butterfly

that has finally learnt to soar

and vanish into the sky.

It is about the way you stare

into my eyes

as I leave you a scar

with the scratches I make

while your hips create waves

against mine

that cause disruption

with the way I see things

and provoke systolic changes

with the way I feel and think.

It is about what you do to me

and how they affect

my entire being —

like when you plant a kiss

on my forehead

without you realizing

that I have fallen deeper

into the curse of endless slumber

and I never



to wake up again.


*Effection — creation, production.