The lemon yellow sun on your face

full of starlight imaginings

like these hearts on sleeves

rushing rivers of thought

seen behind closed eyes that dart around the universe

in search of this

the caress of a cheek

a hand on swaying hips

the taste of honey

on passionate lips

the singular journey

of two lonely ships

on an ocean of touch

in love with eyes of the moon



Author: valo

I am a poet, writer and activist with a special interest in human rights for children and women as well as the elimination of poverty worldwide. If you read this today, feed someone locally for me will you? Drop off a non perishable food item at the food bank nearest you and consider yourself hugged. Thank you!

4 thoughts on “Coupling”

  1. I still remember the taste of my first ‘love’. I was 16 and he tasted of coffee and cigarettes. He’s the only one I remember the taste of… I suppose because it was just so mixed in with all those other emotions, it’s stayed with me – always linked to the memory of what it felt like to be held by him. Scrumptious. I like this poem, Val… it feels light and smiley. I like wandering through your blog too. You have excellent taste in music πŸ˜‰

    1. It’s an enormous compliment that what I write can inspire reminiscing of such a wonderful time and that there is a sensory component for you after reading this has made my day. I remember mine as well, but for me it was the way his lip trembled and the warmth of his body next to mine so sweet and close. I think if a girl is lucky enough to be gifted with a magical first love, she becomes a hopeless romantic even during the cynical episodes of the reality of life and relationships. πŸ˜‰


    The mango blue moon under your hips
    Free from supernovae reality
    Like these whips for slaves
    Crushing bitterness and hope
    Unseen out of closed eyes
    That drag around the universe
    In wonders with no wander
    No caress no more chicks
    Only the hand on her hips
    The taste of money
    On neutral lips
    The sitting of the buffalos
    For two of the swiss
    On a moutain with no relief
    In love with a blinded moon

    1. This must be the dark side of my poem and because I’m partial to that lack of light at times, I think this is damn good, but terribly bitter. πŸ™‚

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