Another place, another soul,

Night planning a feast,

Waiting for a little help from the sunrise,

To finish in beauty, what cannot be…


Dropping a couple of shooting stars,

in silver plate, spice up with crystal pearls,

The moon was kind to let them scrounge,

and the sea to let me drowned,

To hunt the mermaid & borrow her black pearls.


The rain let me used her prized crystal glasses,

Fills with her tears of happiness,

Morning’s dews dress on fallen leaves,

For starter, with a pinch of dreams.


Just a tiny bit to let children’s fantasia,

Is not the quantity but the quality?

Whisper in my ears the first ray of light,

Reflecting on spiritual recipes.


I run all night in the garden of Sodom,

To pick the best truffles,

The mighty look with envy,

My loving hands at works.

Main course, which need cutlery,

When the poet can use his pen,

Gently opening his lips,

Foods for the thoughts…


To make your smile,

In the morning dews.

Do you like the place?

In the middle of the wood,


The smell of the firewood,

Invigorate the senses.

Sacrifice of the tree felt,

Perfect high, to seat above…


discussing the holiness of such tastes,

Or lied down in the grass,

“Did you used to watch at the clouds?

And see them; smiling at you, it was so easy then…


The last days of summer,

“Quick makes a wish”

So you known everything is possible,

Because if you still lying down, fluffy clouds will fills
your head.

Time to serve the dessert,

I look up to my lost friend,

And the blizzard falls like no tomorrow,

But I won’t loose those magic beliefs,


“Do you like cloudberry sorbets cloud?”

You might be surprise and be lucky,

And find a broken blue angel,

Tender on the palette…


Look they reflect in your eyes,

Was it a smile or a tear I saw running along your face?

Or maybe still the glitter of the nights before?

Who care when the hope and the romance,

Crack the stones under our feet’s!


Thank for letting me believe one more time,

I blame god to have give me grey eyes

So let pretend for a while,

And let the crow pick your blue eyes,


So I may wake up to the cruel reality,

Or the beauty around who know?

Have you notice the angels,

Spying and blessings it all.


The clouds and the wind,

Caressing gently our faces,

It would be so beautiful indeed,

If sometimes the world was real as such.


Until then, I am afraid,

Oyster would do nicely,

Champagne, were I push my first scream,

Shall intoxicate us a while longer…


We were lucky to have breakfast,

And if the broken trunk was a bed,

There was nothing wrong to keep the dreams alive,

Before the light blind us to reality and coffee.


And all disappears, magic!

The moon is waiting to vanish,

The rain ready to crash her crystal tears,

Maybe we should get back home and take our pen,

Instead to use them to eat, the food of the gods….



Author's Notes/Comments: 


SSmoothie's picture

I think I just became a

I think I just became a sexual deviant! LOL! this is a very beautiful way of presenting such otherwise uncomfortable ideas! you have put a gorgeous sparkle to a primal instinct. facinating. this is very different from some of your other very uncomfortable writes. you should be proud of this is something new the romanticising of passion which is based primarily on the wishes of the self. incredible write! BRAVO!!!

Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS    

"Well, it's love, but not as we know it."

Morningglory's picture

Um, I think I might love you.

Um, I think I might love you. Or at least your words... really take me someplace special inside. Very much touched beneath my skin. So glad to be looking a little into your mind.

Copyright © morningglory

CrowPieD's picture

bless u

your comments are and make my heart warm, i don't write fro no one, but i feel this need to explose my sickly letters on the screen and when i get a respond like you i feel bless, so in return bless you too!

Visual poet/ Libertine lost in a labyrinth of complexities, methaphors, searching for the essence/ Ink of life/ death to spell my syphilistic words on the page/ screen.       

Morningglory's picture

This day, these so called,

This day, these so called, 'sickly letters' are intriguing the hell out of me. Just read that really dark story about the girl and the cemetery (CHILDREN`S GRAVES.). The imagery, mood, your accent, everything... really took me for quite a ride. Scary piece. Beautifully written. Great piece!

Copyright © morningglory