Sunday word hunter: poetry and nonsense,  To beloved ones

Lusciously unknown

crop faceless couple holding hands on balcony
Photo by Anete Lusina on

Twice in life,

pleased I’d be to pretend we’ve met,

to forget thencefore.

Just to be

the first one,

to erase any of your smile’s memories.


a second meeting,

to love again what I’ve never met before.

Since forgotten.

For you,

are no more than unknown.

And what I love is an obsession of my imagination.

Nothing more.

Someone made up,

close to real men.

Yet, always gone by faked faded wishes.

All collected.

All withered.

Besides copied verses;

all in awe,

all in vain and hopeless.

Indeed insane,

every night I were to kiss your insubstantial whole,

somewhere a place blue birds sing,

to find you once again in alien and foreign lands of dream.

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