even I can't tell
anymore, which of the things
                    I say are true / lies
but for some unknown reason
you're here, you know who I am

you wear my shirt from
the night before like it's your
turn to fill my space

to savor and taste
where there was only hunger
just the night before

maybe it's not them
you miss — perhaps it's yourself
                back when you're happy

know that if I leave
I didn't stop choosing you —
I stopped choosing me

things I left unsaid
walks the plank that is my
tongue, but they won't jump
and now roam my mouth — ghosts with
a LIFE more DEAD than ALIVE

I might as well live
in my very own country
— PROCRASTINATION

why does thunderclap
over a sunlit sky — feel
like an oath you'd break

but then the rain came
where each drop planted a kiss
on my skin — sweet, soft
and tender — exactly where
you promised each one will be

now each thunderclap
over a sunlit sky — is
hope I believe in

I'd like to take your
glasses off someday, and set
them on a table
then I'll lean forward, as slow
as the way
                        you
             stir
                        your
             cup

sometimes people choke
on something edible or
wild — like his secrets

sometimes when people
go, they do it for themselves —
so while they're still here
give them a home and try to
take them out of the warzone

in the end, it's not
the time difference but the
difference in us

our love can take a
different shape, HISTORY —
the one we shared — won't

is it because I
have yet to taste that I have
yet to
           understand?

I can change the room
but every time you enter
all the noise . . . softens

if you didn't sleep
last night, did today ever
turned to tomorrow

fleeting orange sky
stop — before I sing sadly
through dark winter nights

my skin is foreign
land — just as my hand is a
foreigner on yours

me going isn't
a cry for help — it's the bells
after a long war

living alone, I
thought the sea was a distant
dream — 'til I cried one

**** I keep losing
you in the crowd, guy who looks
like Kido Taisei

does it keep you up
at night — waiting for the when
in WHEN I GROW UP . . .

if you're looking for
CONSISTENT, search no more — I'm
                                  consistently tired

Mondays are for things
often left open from the
night before — close me

ᴵ touch me
on my palm
like I'm a flower
you mean to open

ᴵᴵ touch me
between my fingers
like I'm a sea
you mean to part

ᴵᴵᴵ touch me
in my arm
like I'm a sheep
you mean to guide

ᴵⱽ touch me
on my shoulders
like I'm a wall
you mean to hold

ⱽ touch me
on the nape
like I'm cards
you mean to shuffle

ⱽᴵ touch me
on the side of my face
like I'm braille
you mean to read

ⱽᴵᴵ touch me
on the lips
like I'm cherries
you mean to pick

ⱽᴵᴵᴵ touch me
on my neck
like I'm a glass
you mean to drink

ᴵˣ touch me
on my chest
like I'm a drum
you mean to beat

ˣ touch me
like you mean it

I came out — first when
I liked you and then when I
liked myself for it

please just let me melt
like small pats of  French butter
on warm Sunday toasts

we had that one old
photo that always reminds
me how I wanted
to have kids with you, and you
did have kids — just not with me

I don't wish to be
where you're not — your absence has
embittered life there

I've not been holding
the door for you since you left —
I burned the house down

I am losing sleep
over the matter of why
I am losing sleep

I was up, writing
my ink — cold and raven like
                               rain at 2 am

the PARABLE of
the PLEASER:      "can you help with . . ."

YEAH
             SURE THING
                                       WHY NOT

they only see the
tiredness in your eyes when they're
mad at you for it

I'm always stealing
glances and end up getting
lost in your eyes, or
is it the ocean — to be
honest, what's the difference

ask me what? — I'd say
hold me — ask me how and when?
I'd say close and now⠀

if you want to shut
me up, lock my lower lip
in-between your teeth

how passed out I am
right now — drunk and hungover
from these bad choices

confession: I thought
the word RUMINATION was
named after Rumi
                             (the Persian poet)

my patience would leave
me like its house — it'd always
find a home in you

we allow ourselves the MEMORY
even if it comes with the PAIN
just so we won't forget the PERSON

rain will come one day
and you'll find out these handcuffs
were made of paper

tell me a story
who, what, where, when, how and why
I'll always listen