Neck bent a little far to the right
Impressions of sheets in skin wrapped too tightly around willing wrists
Makeshift bandages for cuts that have closed but still bleed.
You must be out for coffee
Or on a call that couldn't wait
But Sunday's are for rain and dreams you can't quite remember
And secrets tucked in a leg bent at the knee.
I can't tell the difference between lust and love making anymore though I'd like to still believe in the latter.
You return and I lose myself in the corner of your eye and I hang myself there on those lines
Allowing myself to kiss you there just once for fear of becoming too entangled
A sweet suicide that'd be
Gasping for air
Lost in your laughter

To you, who has seen him in person:

How did he look like? Was his skin smooth and white as milk; or was it a golden glow bestowed upon him? Did you see the humanistic details known as blemishes or beauty marks which usually get edited out in pictures? Was he the type of person to hold your gaze as he held your hands? Or did he look away after a few seconds? Did you see the mirth that sparkled in his glassy orbs? Did you see the smiles of other people being contained in them, that now he carries an eye smile wherever he goes? Did your eyes keep his gaze, afraid that it would break the staring spell? What of his hands, were they as warm as his eyes, or vice versa? Were they soft like a light feather, or coarse with experience of the harsh outside world? Did your eyes trace the veins that led up to his arms? They're beautiful, aren't they? How those threads of blue, green and red twisted playfully under his skin, giving him the blood to see you. How about his cheeks, did they lift; did he laugh? Did his laughter sound like little bells ringing, or a little stream through a dry desert; it was so refreshing, wasn't it? Did he even smile to the point where his eyes crinkled, forehead wrinkled, and you saw both rows of his teeth? Was his voice deep? Was it too deep that you fell deeper as well, in love? Or was it a smooth one, rich in emotion, or did you hear the innocence in his soul as he gently spoke? Was he relaxed; were his shoulders and breathing calm? Was his hair nearly as disheveled as yours? Was he perspiring from the heat or from the jitters and tension? I bet you couldn't keep calm, and you nearly hyperventilated just from sharing the same air with him. Maybe he made you less nervous with cheesy pickup lines, when you yourself planned to say it to him, in hopes of getting stuck in his head with your jokes or puns. Maybe his grip was too light on your fingers, and you felt him lose his grip and slip away-- you might have held your whole world in your hand but he only held a tiny part of his. Like how he easily walked past you with a quick acknowledging glance, one that's no special from the glances he gave to others. And you wonder if you'll appear in their minds right before they sleep, or even appear in their dreams.

Even i wonder if i can ever cross his mind as nostalgia when he sees, hears or touches something. Or if I'll be able to meet him even if it's just in our dreams, and we wake up at the same time because of it. Sometimes I fear it when the day arrives to see him; i fear the day when i finally see the look in his eyes, as if he's just staring at no one. I fear the day to hold his hand, knowing his grip wouldn't be as intense as mine. I fear the day to realize he didn't and would never feel the same way. But darling, i look forward to seeing him, because he needs to know at least that he is loved. And that thought alone comforts me.

So right now, just looking at you, my dear, is more than enough. Just having you look me in the eyes, is more than enough. Because i believe and feel his eyes which once stared at yours, are staring back at me too.

From me, who loves him

What happens
When you are silenced
Ideas fight
Thoughts escape
Words stranded --
A broken one
On the tip of the tongue.
Only an opinion counts --
Not your own
Others, others talk
And you listen
Others, others argue
And you stiffen
What happens
When you are silenced
You hear everything
Your voice, stolen
All the questions
You cannot answer
Directed to you
But they will do it for you.

Whatever I choose to say
It would not have come out right anyway
I will make it worse
I will make it better
The words stuck --
A broken one
On the tip of the tongue.

What happens
When a writer is silenced
It is the best thing that can happen
I will not say a word
Because you listen to your own.
Words are my forte
My weapon of love
Of mass destruction
I will let the truth
That words cannot translate
Speak for me instead.

to sink slowly i write word after word to you -
wondering, but only sometimes

i don't worry but a little, and i'm sure to do it
in spanish because i feel more romantic that way

i wait every once in awhile, but even then i'm still
moving - you see i am free now and to me that means
never sitting still, even when i do rest my bones

i see something within you even though my eyes
aren't looking at you, i see it in the ether and in the
in between and in the night sky and in the lake bottoms

i see it when i wake and when i drift and when i am not
sure if i'm here nor there

i see it in the cards i read and the breath that moves me and
the stretch that soothes and the stars that speak

i wish to scoop you up into my mountains and hide you
in the craters of the crescent moon that kisses their peaks

i wish to build tracks next to yours and roam this earth
parallel with one another, until we've nowhere else to roll

i wish to know you, and for once, i think,
i'd like to let someone know me

a ride on the bus
sitting in the back row
staring out windows

roasting asphalt oven
sweat and petroleum pungent
a festival in the truest sense
diversity beyond societal bland
tolerance arches over rainbow
colored heads banging to the beat
the great goddess smiles as we dance
she knows true love when she sees it

sing to the dying sun
draping white shoulders afire
above lahar fields green again
successions of ash and germination
evidence of universal rotation
barren to blessed
sway to the eternal rhythm
bass heartbeat in our chests

The times are strange but sweet, they ought to be
Coffee shops, Atomic submarines
Lonely people sit and talk to me
It’s just another day

Waiting with my phone, it never rings
TV’s plastic personality
Emulate the Star’s that I have seen
And dance my reggae sway
And dance my reggae sway

Politics are really meaningless
Morals give you thoughts you can confess
Talk is cheap, but fun at very best
Leaves me in disarray

These are the systems of dysfunction
Likely to bring about destruction
And like you we seek compassion
But sometimes it doesn’t happen

A busy day those shoppers have their needs
They behave sometimes their nice to me
To reach out and touch is blasphemy
I won’t remember their names

A joke or smile it means a lot to me
Shattered people hide their agony
Is love real it’s better to believe
And dance my reggae sway
And dance my reggae sway

The times are strange but sweet they ought to be
A lonely soul once tried to talk to me
I was tired feeling empty Lord
And now they’ve gone away
And now they’ve gone away