your laugh is like a wandering cloud of Winter,

caressing the moonlit sky, as if sweeping

the diaphanous veil of desire and demure

with trembling touch of new found love


among the dark tresses of unyielding beauty,

you are hiraeth of a selenophile, a longing

flickering phenomena of silver triangles

surmounted they twinkle, upside down


shimmers of stardust engulf me

perennial pirouette of love and its feeling

empyrean scatters of light, such iridescent gleam

through roses and sunflowers, it found me…


©Written Frames, 2018

Look at the skies and you will see what you feel.



Charismatic stature of universe

Your skin sojourns the summer sun

Incarnadined glow around the lethal turns

Colors me into disguise of you

Behold me, I breathe gratitude


Your body of bosky mountains and valleys

Flexuous frail under the darkling sky

Breaths of zephyr into my moist pits

Your hair cloud devours the long nights

My eloquence flinches down my gut


You are my arrant actuality

An eternal stop of the wayfarer

Yield into oblivion, see thine ethereal beauty

Perennial lachrymal flow of euphoria

Projects a picture perfect of you, on me


Behold thyself

Follow my sight to know who you are . . .


©Written Frames, 2018


Shades And Tints


A coiled convolution, not checkered skin with monochrome base

We don’t breathe black or white but radiant fire

Heap of hues stacked to slip beneath our foot

Shade by shade, garnishes the path we take and walk


Yes, we are shades and tints, never a color

A call for a choice what attracts and repels

To color a leaf spring green or of autumn-ash

Pick a pastel and paint the experience of this landscape


We ain’t black or white tinned, this skin of vanilla shade

Circumstantial bad and good, love and hate

Suit of first hues unraveled define us in their eyes

Wait for us to dye in different blush before you judge us away


Yes, we are shades and tints on trial

Aim to fuse into earth toned, blooming colorful flowers

With running blue and swaying greens, of bright beams through the grey clouds of destiny

To be loved by the bodies pigmented in the colors of different direction they walk


adapting and accepting


© Written Frames, 2018