Primitive Fire In The Lens Poem by Reza Raza

Long I have searched my death alone in the map of her juicy lips;
The strength of the bow lies in conflicting dilemmas.

Golden dew is in the fine air of trembling heart
As if the joy of a dreamy bird flies.
The color of the butterfly is the flowing water of desire.
Unspeakable sadness of invisible words
Die in the heavenly water of the waterbody.
The juice flows into the mouth of quicksand.
Youthful head of the sloppy wind blows into the secret fire.
The skull is heated by the intense heat of the desert.
Then the wave wakes up in the roar of lust on the wings of fire,
Tearing off veils to the fragrance of open breasts.

The cloud of silvery moonlight is on the slippery thigh of Venus
The eyes go to the carnival peak of the rising time.
The moving hands of the clock stand against the frozen clouds.
Look at the deep mole on the beloved's neck.
Wild music of water flows in the silence of the beautiful Valley.

Air-violin plays fickle on the rose petals of the secret river
Wild gaiety claps seeing the image of the union, reunion.

The grass of desire is self-sacrificing;
The harvest of dangerous desire is in the raft of time.
These days and nights of yours -
Holds the wheel of enchantment craft - Reptiles lurk.

He has no escape,
Pierced heart draws -
Watercolor image of eternal love in the atrium and ventricle.