You are the poetry etched in my heart, the soul that I’ve tried to peel from mine, unsuccessfully. Your breath latches on my skin even on summer nights The humid air and my sweat cannot dilute your scent They both linger unsparingly, so real that I can almost hear our symphony every time you whispered how you’d want to hold me. You are the poetry etched in my heart. The ink was indelible; what you said cannot be undone. T...

In the second month of spring, the open meadows are inviting to all women in Cyprus. In a town where devotees of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, look forward to the ceremony in her honour, they have been raised to put their hopes in her. They say that her benevolence is rare, for she is known to favour only a few worshippers – but this spring is like no other. For only once, the townsfolk know that the goddess...

He wakes up next to her on the same sheets Her bare back is turned against him, sunlight glistening on her cinnamon skin. He smiles, letting his fingers make light trails along her spine... Lingering on her waist, down her curvy hips Tracing the stretchmarks that she didn't want him to see the night before. She gently moves, tickled by a story that his lips are writing right there - on the white patches and lines That mak...

She is fire. He is ice. Her smile warms his own little world That he has shut out everyone. But her light and her warmth seep through the cracks of his door. With one flick of her flame, he gives her the key, and she steps into his dark den glowing, making him perspire and thirst for her scent, her touch and her laughter that tickles even his sleepy bones. She is fire. He is ice. He melts into her embrace like a tired war...

Dear Ben, On my Bible app, I was reminded that God will satisfy my needs in a scorching land and will strengthen my frame. This land is my body and my soul. So I have asked, even if I feel I don't deserve it, for Him to make me whole again. With you, my body and soul woke up to sensations I have already forgotten. I did not know that your voice would hold me like how a child would want to be held—trusting, longing, and fo...

Her eyes are two little boats lost in the aftermath of a storm. From the grayish ocean, they sail into the lagoon of his eyes of crystal green -- serene, inviting enchanting like a beautiful song, breath-taking, just at the right time when the torn sails finally catch the right winds. The little boats glide, they move closer and closer to where the song belongs -- the lagoon of crystal green where the sunlight dances, whe...

I used to see the blinking cursor on a white page, domineering, overbearing, sneering at me. At my lack. At the spaces I dared not take up. I could almost hear it saying, "You're always like that. Parking me at this point in a huge, open white space. You set the plan, the time, and the possible sources of inspiration. But still, here I stand. You always cower to make me move." So now I am here, making the cursor run on th...