Treasure Island

cristobal Benjumea

(190865 / jersey)

love is her


love is sleeping in minds of amathyst, drinking coffee out of oyster shells, in the forest i saw you, you were a steamy double decker bus

more whisky, would that improve the alchemy of the word, the archway

ever since the begginning of the wheel

a plant has to be grown with love

im no different

suddenly i turned into a white marble statue in the garden, no my life has not finished

your reasons for life

for fighting

your awareness your joy your sadness

the bridges must be kept clear

even space junk, for in this voyage all you need is love of the pink starr

and to be willing to be seduced by your appetites for nymphs

to satisfy weather it be just a lace beggining

now its pure progression of your form

in the direction of the crystal lake

you were that racy

i kept the rythim and you the song rose unheeded except for my desires
freedom to share you
waking up at midday
the wind converses with the lake, where adorable we gloat over the swan swims
to utopia
to the milky way,
to be happy,
wander round the orchard,
cupid speaks of, fantstic gardens of fruit, red cyan the magenta of my eyes, prfumes like incense, magenta vine trees thatallmost cover the sky, the ocasional exotic birds follows its course, south
love is not hate, its love, walking through the green field through the manglar trees, i desired the sun but love took me line went through the archway love took me by the han to a sacred place of red flowers

yes im yours

your mine



this is our harvest

we are the reflection of gods love

a poem of dancers through a room of junk, through an arch

to freedom to attain happynes

and fluck the tree

Submitted: Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Edited: Monday, February 17, 2014
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