Aligned down the tangent of your iris, I crumble,

Malleating my mind by your allure, I stumble.

Ostentatiously admiring your silhouette, I struggle,

Unveiling the secret chamber of my ventral tegmental, I'm troubled.

Navigating the fig branches of your figure, I yearn to cuddle,

In the letters of love, we find what we think are subtle.

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the tide folds itself in a cyan secret,
your dress is the horizon pretending to be close,
hair, disciplined into silence, dreams of waves,
when wet, it remembers freedom,

eyes like doors the sea has forgotten to close,
a smile where sunlight loses its memory,
lips, a fruit no hand dares touch,
yet all the shore bends to whisper your name, amoun

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