Two-step verification — it takes two to fall in love,
but that’s yet to be confirmed. Grinding gears just
to talk, shifting through awkward conversations,
but we can’t reverse all the bad things we’ve said
at those rushing high speeds.

Lovers with underwear conversations, trying to fix
what they barely understood, so unaware of what’s
really the problem. We run into relationships holding
open scissors —the result? Just another love story
cut too short.

But teach yourself to love someone new, still maybe
the lesson won’t stick. So brace for impact when they
say, "I truly love embracing you."

And I feel like Saturday news — as they talk about us
like weekend headlines. They say I left my imprint
on you, but that just comes from being pressed for
a time, rushing to report every mistake before the
feeling fades.

Needing nothing — and in the same breath, needing
each other. Yet neither of us has anything long-lasting
to give. To love someone with real deep depth while
they only offer surface depth. Lurid entertainments.
Frozen, unflattering coitus. And quoting someone else’s
expressions because we’re too shy to speak out our own
love language.

Two people, extending their existence — but modern
love feels like this: one of us still alive in the moment,
while the other is just living in a picture without you
in the end. ////// You claimed to be bound to each
other, but it was really bound to end

Oh mind of mine,
Hush! Be quiet!
Aren’t you exhausted from singing?
Singing of the minute just gone,
Of expired heartaches,
Of the minute yet to come,
And of the uncertain tomorrow.

Silence, oh loud one!
Your songs weary me.
Your voice casts a dark cloud
Over my sunny day!
Free me from your shackles,
Oh phony master —
I ain’t your prisoner!

Let me ascend,
Ascend high into the blue sky,
Over the green haven,
And let me compose my own song.

By Sudeep Karki

Living half in memory
stitched with fragile thread.
Waiting on replies
to pledges never said.

Held the hands of storms,
drunk on joy and fear.
Kissed through rain,
like lovestruck fools
when endings felt too near.

left some names behind,
held a few too close,
one who lit the match,
one who loved us most.

My nights
float between sleep
and
sounds around me—
my mind drifting
to the shores of rest
and the isles of wakefulness
until I open my eyes
only to wish them
closed again.

I remember you, not in moonlight or sonnets, but in the stench of smoke-filled pillows, half-smirked apologies, and the cold hum of your phone screen glowing too long after midnight.

Love didn’t bloom here, it cracked through concrete where **** and poppies tried to coexist, where we kissed like threats, mouths drunk on leftover gin and borrowed forgiveness.

You spoke in edits, cutting out truths like clutter, calling silence “space,” calling me “intense,” like affection was something to ration, not pour.

I touched your skin and felt the echo of all the hands before mine, none of them holy, just loud.

Hope tasted metallic. I bled through your quiet, left fingerprints on walls you never looked at, and wrote poems you never posted.

So when they ask where wildflowers go, I say: some rot. Some get plucked by liars. Some learn to bloom with fists. And some break through anyway, but they don’t weep. They spit.

met Presidents,
kings and queens plenty,
so many princes and princess,
each one, most impressive
to their themselves.
but never knew an Empress…till now~(k)now

twice for emphasis, but better yet, enraptured,
her commandments, demand immediate readings,
never demanding solicitation, just a whispering
"come hither fool~baby"

the paucity of my words grow paler when I compare,
my tongue tied bonds, and I consider abandonment
of what gives me sparks of belief that tomorrow
will still be worth it, that I can create, something
worth sharing, and the words come up in the throat,
abandon all hope, ye who dare read the Empress

I know, you accuse me of exaggerated exaggeration,
plead the Fifth, the right not to self-incriminate,
pointless to demure, make an appoint ment for later,
when by silence surrounded, everyone gone, re~Read,
out loud chewing every soft obsidian granule, drink
pure water, and curse myself again, who knew, eclectic
electric, as they jay jelly roll (😉) off my was just a few bytes
away, head in hands, equal parts of joy and despair
parting my hair, drawing lines in my scalp, and the
demon muse gleefully, perhaps, at last, thinking mmm…
this will be his last
First Poem of the Day (FPOTD0

and now the day  a)  mences b) ensses

A love poem plays words
on piano wire,
hitting notes
while the writer scribbles the keys,
scratching out
their feelings
to songs like Drops Of Jupiter.