I have shared
land and sky
with you.
I have tasted
blood and honey.
My witch-oil turned
to dragon-fire
at your touch…

Soft fingers laid asleep
until your turmoil
woke them
for so long…

It feels like getting drunk
on old reddish wine
long softened
during times of
War
Equanimity
and
Comets.
What shall I pour in your glass?
Molten flowers
Golden ink
Lucid light
Unicorn mirth…

I dig your veins
for gold.
I find pure
bitter-sweet
amber nuggets.

I fear any story
whose ink
my words
can’t drink…
Yet I drip in yours
ever since.

When your arms call
and your lips
read all my feral kisses
How can there be no heaven?

Iulia Halatz: “Writing is an Iron Tale, must be tough and sincere to the core of human perception of pain as valor. I am the grumpy T-Rex who started writing out of pain, not because of…