I hate
that you say my name with such careless abandon

just so that my soul would ache

but god I love
the way you touched me

in the dark of night
just to leave me in the morning

you know it's real
when the songs I used to sing
are sung
with thoughts of dreams
laughs
and dances
with you

when I asked you whether I should go turn out the lights

You said “no. why?”

and for a fraction of a second I could see myself through your eyes

and I never felt the need to ask again

as kingdoms have been erected
and as empires have crumbled
not once
did proposals
such declarations from the heart
become more important
than the quiet pleas
of the soul
cradling itself
within the etches of time and callused palms
waiting permission
asking
if they may give themselves to the other
in the only form it knows

Sometimes
I forget the way your hip fits
and other times
I forget you like the heat
But never
do I forget the way you love me
in the daylight and in the sheets

My dear,
When I tell you love is steadfast.
I mean it is both a roaring river but it’s banks will rise and fall
there will be external forces
And there will be internal ones
That push
On
you
And
them
But in the end
The river always flows

home
Sprinting of feet
Dances in place
Food placed to meet
The needs of those
Both near and far
home

House
Decorated
Exact
Collected
House

but safe
Safe is home of people
With a hearth
With heart
With laughter
And with love
but safe
is what I love the most

the knight
stands at the ready
Helmet down
sword up

ready to give it his all for those behind him

the white flag long gone
soaked with blood

back leg — staggering
roses dying by the side

and he stays there

never moving

the knight stands at the ready
never breaking

even when it’s only himself to save.

life is too short
to not offer
the passerby
my innermost thoughts
in a flirtation
a smile
if I can’t do anything to put a smile on one person’s face
I’m not doing anything
of any importance
at all

sometimes we must realize
that there’s a reason
lovers who sit beside each other
last longer
than those who do not
because
how can you hold the rope
together
when your constantly tugging against
the other?

and as I moan, regarding perfect little deaths
his voice makes me cringe
and I’m transported back into that late november night where you just held me.

in moments like this, i wonder
should i say thank you?
or scowl at my own tongue
because why must you be 'thanked'

for finding the beauty in the way a masterpiece i did not create became encased and enclosed around me? a heartbreaking masterpiece my soul hides behind.

but darling, really.

must i thank you?

dare I thank you for noticing

the way my hips flow like new streams
making their own path to once again embrace. finding themselves through pure instinct.

should i say thank you?

for seeing the same desire in me that Venus possessed in the arms of passion, the same ones lost to history we so seek to be held by?

or may i say thank you.

thank you for guiding me up the stairs that never end, winding along as I am, so that I may be, all that I am. Thank you for blindly reaching into the dark and choosing to love all that you touch...

even Eros would have loved you.

As your willful blindness and seeking touch brought me to the final step, so that I may say

thank you.

sitting awake
I thought of him

of what we were

of what it was

of how it should have been.

but now
I thank god
sitting awake

instead of waking up screaming

what I would give for one more goodbye

a game of pool, a little banter.

we could even pretend we’d never met before, not that we could convince anybody else.

I don’t think we’d get through one game though, not really.

I’d probably spill a drink
and someone would come up and tell you hello, eighty five different ways.

and we’d both remember, and wonder what we’re doing anyways.

Avoiding whispers in the dark

grief used to sound like it was a few sad days
like you wandered on the road, but knew where you were going

it took but a moment

Or it sounded that way.

But grief felt like nothing. or everything. It felt like a bubble encased the world, and continued on without you. There was no road, no wandering, no movement.

maybe just static.

and nothing else

but that’s not even true


because it was absolutely everything
a cacophony at the highest degree

but just with silence
and an empty seat

we both were screaming
to pick up more speed
running from ourselves
in the ******* getaway car
hoping to crash

human beings were made to be touched
softly
with such devotion and reverence
and maybe a little awe
tracing the littlest scrapes
scars & freckles
like the shrines of every idol
to worship at the throne of messy hair
and drums of heartbeats
synced to a choir I only hear
when they say my name

On these days
When the absence of you
Tears pockets in the fibres of my being

Time moves slow.

Because while the moments are fun
They could be better
With your laugh
With your touch
With your words

Like every molecule bound to my form craves the covalent bond that is being deprived

So I curl up
As if tightening my form could keep the missing from leaking out

And I envelope myself in the pieces of you
To stifle the leaks until
Your laugh
Your words
And your touch

Are here
With me

And the absence of you tears holes no longer

When the sun has yet to rise
And when your eyes remain closed

and

When your breathing softens and your shoulders finally drop every fraction of tension

It is then that the shadows seem to encompass you, giving you an ethereal glow

but you remain effortlessly breathtaking

dropping my thoughts, desires, and love at the nape of your neck

before my eyes close for the night

and I am lost in the comfort of you

In these moments
Where I crush against pillows
No longer to muffle sobs
But
To replay his touch
On my back
Where I can feel his arm
Resting underneath my head

I know

tonight is one of those nights
where the stars would’ve looked perfect waltzing across your back
As candlelight flickered on fingertips where kisses just passed
I want to hear every murmur and sigh
as you flick the strands over my shoulder
I know the whispers won’t stop till starlight tucks itself in
and our giggles and dreams echo till day breaks in

I want the echos of starlight to be captured in the lenses you chose to view the world in
I want the heartache of violet to hit you so profoundly you must ask
Why

I wish the beauty in the alphabet could crash along your deaf ears

and shake you like thunder

I want there to be words to encompass the way his kisses across my collar feels like the nordic fires and metal smiths honing a blade with fierce determination.

the ones up my neck like the night the prodigal son came home. the oxygen in my lungs craving to be mixed with yours, to find it’s way home.

the way his lips taste the way liquor feels when a beggar finds refuge after a long day, craving morsels without sense.

the way his eyes furrow underneath mountains of wisdom from years gone by, like one about to decide a war, not the dress of red or black.

I need words to express the touch of him, like the celebration of a war over, when drinks may be had and songs to be sung, heaving great sighs of relief and joy for the future.

I want to whisper nothings to the wind and have it whisper back to me the echoes of his laughter across my navel.

but there are no words for such things. For the depths of passion are merely scratched by the word itself

There are days
Where the stellar sings quieter
Whether muffled by mediocrity or sadness
no one’s sure

but they continue to sing
regardless of the love in apartment 2b
or the abuse in 3c

the stellar doth not discriminate
it’s tune drones on

even when the world seems to go all wrong

so as the day continues
so do they

till the stellar no long sings
and they sky is no longer grey

Something special about the way you meet strangers.

We were never supposed to talk to them, but everyone is a stranger till a word is spoken.

Or does it have to be spoken?
Because
When you
Looked

No,

Stared
At me

You went from stranger to someone I’d met before,

Just in dreams

And memories long forgotten

Something special about the way we speak to strangers.

if I could stay
existing
in that 15 minutes of a scalding hot shower
ice cold companion
with nothing but candlelight
and
wow that silence

I spent the day
humming the hymnals of spring rain
of rebirth as I washed up to my elbows in dirt
reminded of how unassuming a tangle of roots can be
and the way rosemary smells like a violin sounds
That being kissed by the soil, cradling a cheek with a swipe
is more fulfilling
than I’ll ever
be able
to articulate

Healing is not linear
I like to say as tears fall parallel
Why can’t I let that go
Loosen my grip
On the anger
The injustice
The lies
Why can’t I let that go
For every second that passes
Not the pain you caused
But that I let myself be pained
Over
And over
As the tears fall asymmetrically
Onto a tight fist
And his unopened letters

tease me
as we lean against the bar
hiding from the others
call me darlin’
As I accidentally step on a toe
fine maybe two
and pondering who’ll wear the cowboy hat for the night
and maybe a couple more

There are moments in life
we all have dreamed about
The cinematic snapshots
magically capturing that feeling
In a way that the world rarely allows

It’s the present moments

and I am oh so lucky to have found one with you

you loved me for my innocence
my light
my newness

and like looking back on faded pictures
i sit shaking my head
at how little she knew
and that I wish I could bottle her fearless
trust

but god I can’t blame you
for loving a force of nature

because for all of it
you held her as best as you could

with terror in your eyes and trembles in your hands
that she’d leave

because she was too young to read the signs
and so she cries all the way home
to me

flipping through poems
and what I thought love only was

why does that half glass of red
taste so much sexier
when cuddled in bed
with a snoring floof
and a fresh set of sheets

please do not
leave me in cold sheets
where I can feel the rain pattering
bringing out the mourning in my bones
I do not want to hear it whisper across my palm
seeking its partner
no longer in reach

Puddles shall remain one of my favourite things
For the way you knew that they made me smile
And for the way you purposely splashed me to make me beam
Puddles shall remain one of my favourite things
But my favourite thing, my dear, is reserved for you

You make me feel
Like the bottom of a wave
The richest of colours
The deepest of greens

you seek me out with careless abandon
or simply the determination of a knight
Unafraid to back down

from the little woman
Peeking around the willows
Dripping in her lake

You pause with awe and wonder
like you could see every moment that made this second, to get here, worth it


As a little grin traces my face
and I pull you in
and you sink
as I drag you under
blissfully
unaware

When pillows take up the chasms that held you
My breath rocks
When tshirts take up the mantle of your scent
My fingers cling
When my form aches to curl against you
My bed quivers

When you take up to leave
My heart leaves too

something I’ve learnt

and maybe grieved along the way

is striving to be something

is so very different

from wanting to want to be something

that requires you to love

and god just to try

more than you fear

and I watched you close that door

over

and over

before I decided to finally walk away

there's something special about a kiss.

the kinda kiss where you need a second.
the kinda kiss that makes you rest in bliss.
not the two seconds of ecstasy
the two lifetimes kinda bliss.

the kind of bliss that starts when you see them smile, and then see them smile for you.

I want that kind of kiss with you.
the kinda want you now kiss
the right on the floor kiss
the kinda I'm tired but I love you kiss.

the kinda kiss that is only for you.
the kinda kiss I wanna give you
and stay
stuck
two lifetimes

or more

with you.

it is a little funny to me
how little words jotted down in moments of feeling have become touchstones to my soul.

where i can trace the etches of love, lust, and loss with you.

but not even just with you, with myself, and apparently, you the reader.

it is a little funny to me.

how my touchstones, have also, in turn— become yours.

where you could see i couldn't sleep. maybe couldn't breathe. where soul aches and loss weighs, and memories become whispers against my skin.

and i could almost feel your laughter skate across my shoulder, or fingers against my cheek.

so i guess i'll continue
jotting down little moments, hoping a few more come my way

As I wrote symphonies on your lips
And the sunlight played it in stride
time took a breath
and we we’re left to acknowledge
the way my hands felt on your chest
And yours on my back
drawing little nothing, utterly content
to rest in the breath time took
and murmur all the words the greatest lovers never got to whisper
while your green eyes shone
looking at me

they say the eyes are the windows to the soul
I would argue
that the tables which we sit at
and the way we sit
is a far better indicator
as to how much soul someone has left to care for

because darling,
how you sit across from me
makes me wonder

whether anybody is home

few things are more finite
than the terror
whisperered across your cheek
telling you
‘you are not good enough’
and believing such a fallacy
could even be true

you left me tools
I don’t know the names to
and anchors
without their mates
manuals without starts
and windshields
without rain

you left me.

and I suppose I have to figure it out myself

sometimes I worry I’ll be forgotten
but then I realize
I am an amalgamation of all the people I’ve met
that I can’t not look at chop sticks without thinking of that sushi date
or peanut butter without thinking of his spoon
that I say bother because of my best friend
and can hear him ask me what’s next

and I no longer have to worry as much
because if I can hold as much of the many with some names that have lost their vowels
but still hold the feeling

I’ll be just fine

Being remembered in little moments
of laughter
and maybe even tears
till they are gone too

I didn’t realize how much I changed who I was

until my head hit my pillow and the clock kept moving
while I stayed still
or a metaphorical semblance of it anyways

trying to sleep like I hadn’t trained myself
like a dog with a bone
to text you goodnight, or call when you got off

I wasn’t aware how much you soaked into the fibre of my being. Which is why before midnight is so ******* hard.

because all I want to do

is ask how your day was. like a dog with a bone, trying not to beg for more

There is something special in the way he holds my hand

There is something special in the way he kisses my forehead

There is something special in the way he rubs my back

There is something special in the way he holds my stare

There is something special- and it’s simply him.

it’s almost like the sea
knew
that I couldn’t tell
or even recall
the day you met me
was the same day
that all those dreams
were swept
to sea

I sat there
dying
skeletal
lost in the waves
their crests
hoping this crash wouldn’t be the one that would break me
scattering me
completely

Lost in Translation never made sense to me before
I don’t know why it suddenly does now
like the silence and looks
clicked
why loneliness sometimes can be so busy
getting lost

the gods should plead to her
because few things are more majestic
than the way
her back
curves
and her hips paint effortless lines down into her thighs
creating hearts
and the kind of shapes I could get lost in
until the quiet of morning
and the echoes of night