When the time to meet again comes

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when the time to meet again comes
don’t be cautious
don’t guard me from sweet harm
use the glamour in your voice
i won’t run away, i won’t
as i fall into the shadows of the river Thames
as the Shard stays aglow at night
as the heart stops cadaverous
as the lips part with a gasp
i won’t hate you
i will keep the touch
your existence in angelic mist
i will save the sounds of the first kiss
the aquamarine color of your eyes
the stars seen from the windows
your clothes, saturated in male fragrance
the first morning and the last night
our bodies squandered together
unconscious in an uncontrollable moment
your hand, my hand
your skin, my skin
your smile and the rumpled satin
when the time to meet again comes
don’t hesitate, drink me in with your eyes
i won’t flinch, i won’t escape …

© 2016, B. Todorova

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View from London Eye

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Wordless in a world of words

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Another night dressed in the flames of the sunsets. Another night the heart has so much to tell you, yet, the words are out-shined by your heart beat. I can’t break the silence, I am spellbound in my dreams and all I could think about is …

Words,
beautiful words,
red wine adagio,
letter after letter
even the violins admire you.
You taste of moonlight
when I spell you out.
You are that forever
nocturnal perfume
making the paper blush,
the pen dry out of ink in awe.
In your texture
the sunrise leans
into someone’s ocean eyes,
the evening climbs
to every stranger’s heart.
You wrap castles in clouds and
piano sounds, you shelter
first love and sorrow.

Words,
clandestine words,
from lips to lips,
from just a simple inspiration
to a perfect poem,
you astound stars and city lights.
And I, the drifting poet without a muse,
bow, embracing you and the world in
every human victory,
every gentle touch,
every waterfall or river
that never fades into the distance and
never lets the shadows to stain your glory.

You describe forests and jungles,
snow and sand footsteps.
You hold the meaning
of the golden skies tonight,
of the thirsty flowers under raindrops,
of the emerald sparkles
in the eyes looking at me right now.
And in the naked solitude
of this complicated universe,
in the intimate secrets of life as it is,
everything begins and ends with you-
words, beautiful words- I love you.

After Pablo Neruda

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© 2015, B. T., All rights reserved

Maybe

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Tomorrow will come.
The rays through the curtains
will finally inhale freedom and
wonders will steam over
the I-love-you-London cup with coffee.
The town will carry the scent of the moon.

Maybe the stranger who sells bus tickets
will look like you; he will have your eyes-
green, like the wild emerald breeze of the summer,
and a smile just like yours- a transformation
of a slow- spoken love spell.

And if that doesn’t happen, if not tomorrow-
in a week, in a month, in a year…
sometimes, somehow peace will settle
into the cracks where light is absent,
just like the artistry that sculptures rainbows.

Only then, there in the leftovers of my heart,
in the shadows of my consumed soul,
I could realize, reluctantly or not, that
I still think of you and the orange vision of
the clustered skies and it doesn’t hurt anymore …

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© 2014, B. T., All rights reserved