Poetry

Love keeps flowering
and sometimes it comes brutally
filled with a type of energy
like revolutions over the sheets
and at other times softly and swishing in
like the tides
where you lay against me with your thighs
 
or through the gospels of mad hermits
I am overwhelmed by your passion
are swallowed by it.
 
When the sun hangs as if painted on a canvas
and I only get more and more of you
then you become a small perfumed garden around me
where lilies,
roses and the most beautiful carnations
open their cups.