Five ways to make perfume. I Blade the neck of flowers. Distill oil, soft as vanilla. II First bite into apple. Growing a thin amber of silk wings. Upon another layer, threads. V Moonlight on your arms. The fruit of my desire.

Let Your sweet waters wash over me. Soothing me through yet another day. Father bathe me in Your light. Holding back the darkest night,. Help me shine for those I love. A sign, a signal from up above. I saw a sight the other day. That almost blew my mind away;. A fat little bee buzzed past my face.

A poem first rushes to fill every sensile spot of the mind then leaves it forever dented. Aims to redefine the meaning of breathing space. Now open for submission, submit up to 7 poems in a single file attachment. Fogged Clarity, An Arts Review. By Emeniano Acain Somoza, Jr. By Emeniano Acain Somoza, Jr.

Mostly philosophical musings after religion and politics. Persuades the hunt for every day;. And he who wallows in the stream. Will live a life as watered dream. But, I am grounded by desire. And bloom eternal for the fire. Yesterday, we breathed the softest pains. My child, she wept near unseen stains.

Sunday, April 3, 2011. 8220;We travel through time at the speed of light. At the speed of light. We pierce the velvety sky.

If someone claims you will never succeed, fail only to listen, for when you prove them wrong, it shall be the sweetest failure you will ever know. Gently merge to side by side. A steady glow, reflections cast. Across the waters of our souls. Along the path, this light brings joy. And warms the chill of false starts passed. A comfort shared, this magic gift. Thoughts intertwine when given time. When hearts are clear the beauty lasts.

For one minute, walk outside, stand there, in silence, look up at the sky and contemplate how amazing life is. Registered User - includes OpenID. Only members of this blog. Clicking NEVER in the COMMENT MODERATION section works wonders. Songs and Sounds on Saturday.

Eager to stake a claim on love. Inspired by a void within you,. Sending us to the brink of self. This quest is lifelong, a destiny. And selfish need must be laid to rest. So within this dark void a gentle shine.

The clock strikes 2 AM. I stand at the window watching. A dust storm brew in your trail. I am thankful that you did not stay,. Because I wanted you lost. I must admit though I cannot help but conjecture. If your mind ever wanders where you are not. The street lamp flickers away in the windy night. Dimming once in a while, but never faltering. It lends passing comfort to the tramp sheltered in its shadow,. Adding its warmth to his half-lit cigarette. That love is not enough.