The textures of a star as with her flesh
Are not those that seep nor soften
That they grace the hands divine
With the airiest of moistures or the fluidity
Of fire. It is far from that.

All smoothness that I know I felt
And are all too palpable.
Now I abstain from such,
     From such nakedness.

Not the papaya, the apples, the grapes of La Union,
Nor the watermelon kind of touch
But of the moon attenuated, the pierce
Of the narrow light or the folding abaniko,
Could unravel me towards the discovery
Of wild fragilities, little by little, all too tender,
With its river, and its regions forbidden
     And its sections.

I circumnavigate my passions
Towards hers.
     I shiver.

I have yet to measure a feather,
Her waist,
     With my lips.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

The pain was too hard to take and I lost my way
For the only outcome I want, that I ever wanted, is the refurbishment of the foundations of our relationship
A renovation of our house of love
Where the sun shines in every morning and warms our souls as they are intertwined
And the walls don't give in after the inevitable first rains of tomorrow's tears
Instead, after every rainfall, we re-secure the foundations together
Finding the cracks in the walls, floors and doors and filling it with the glue of our bond
I want this house more than any other
I just hope the foundations don't fall while I'm stuck below
Trying to repair the damage that I allowed to set in
Because I had no clue what I was doing