NaPoWriMo 9: Love Things

An abundance of love is, perhaps, all I could give to you. 

In Turkish delights,

In cozy nights, 

I just want to make you smile. Your smile. What a view. 

Love is a weird substance.

Made of sighs,

Joyful (sad) cries,

Happy eyes.

Sex.

The latter has minor importance

But feels good, brings balance. 

You are a comfortable silence. 

That first daisy. 

The sound of morning birds.

The whole world is crazy, 

If this isn’t love. No words 

Can help me say this, but I’ll try:

You are the pure bliss of a starry sky

For a child born in a big city. 

Oh, i do pity those, 

Who have never seen it,

Who will never feel that glee:

This sky might have no limit, 

But every star in it belongs to me.

NaPoWriMo 7: Simple Things

I don’t understand why you like simple things.
My omelettes are quite simple:
Milk, eggs, some paprika, spicy chorizo rings
You eat it as if you’re in a Michelin star restaurant,
Every time, you chew for 10 minutes,
You smile and thank me as if I just saved your life,
As if you were the hungriest man on Earth. 
I smile back. I love making you happy—
So simple. You really overestimate its worth. 

Me frying up this mixture of things is an exchange
Of my simple human love. 
I guess you washing up the plates shows that it is a requited one.

NaPoWriMo 5: The Villanelle

I still desire to make it very clear.

To open up what has been bottled down. 

I feel contempt but have no fear. 





My truth is sharper than a spear.

Prepare for a fight till one’s knockdown. 

I want my name and body to be clear. 





I hope that you will shed a tear. 

I hope your grin will turn into frown.

I must remind you— I have no sympathy, no fear.





Now listen, you, my not-so-dear,

We’ll meet again, at midnight, downtown.

I’ll outline demands, I’ll make them very clear. 





I know that when I see you I will jeer. 

I’ve had so many years of you acting like a clown. 

I’ll be the one with laughter, you’ll be the one with fear.





I’ll see you soon. My not-so dear.

You’ll wear whatever, I will wear a crown.

I am the one who speaks the truth and therefore I’m clear.

You are the liar who should live in constant fear.

NaPoWriMo 3: Timeline

Two days old stubble, curls just covering your eyes. 

I think your eyes are brown. 

I speak, I nod, I’m yet to realise

I am about to drown. 





Three, maybe four days, same old stubble. 

I guess your eyes a lighter shade of brown.

I drink your wine that tastes like trouble. 

You look me in the eyes and at my skimpy dressing gown. 





Clean-shaven. Oddly satisfying.

Don’t care about the colour of your eyes. 

A mere hug, another boundary untying.

Your smell I now can recognise. 





Two days old stubble. I am yet to taste it. 

I’m here. Make me close my eyes. 

I am a sinner, but let’s face it—

The good ones rarely get a prize. 





I like clean-shaven, I accept the stubble. 

Like you accept pyjamas over a skimpy dressing gown. 

That bloody wine got me in so much trouble—

I know your eyes are hazel brown.