she was as the smell of smoke,
clinging to my fingertips.
a linger of reckless abandon.
she was always the first ****,
burning my throat as i inhale.
fingertips, trailing constellations,
sweat glistening as the smoke coils.

i need fresh air.
but my lungs are black,
and i cannot breathe unaided.

One touch
Calls forth reality
Just a glimpse
Caught off guard
Never much
Walls with a moment of clarity
Of clearest quartz

Windows to the smokey undertones
Dried bushes of roses
Wilted, with petals to the wind
Stained stones
Line the path down
Into the endless pits of brown
Like bark of a tree
Or perhaps nutrient-rich soils
Of a secret garden
Watered with internalized rains
Never to flood out with great pains

In the garden
Shielded away
Is a pond of fish playing coy
Above tangling reeds
Only they stay
Protected from hands that may destroy
Or perhaps to brush against the hand that feeds
Light filtering through the green curtain

Buried beneath roots of reeds
Lies a chest of steel
Painted with winged steeds
Ghostly figures, perhaps once real
Locked with a strange mechanism
To which there is only one key
Of the strangest sorts
Perhaps lost to time
Or kept close as can be
Just out of sight

- Jay M
February 5th, 2021

You aren't anything I want.
Your eyes alight at the chance to prove yourself
superior.
Being older shouldn't be an accomplishment
It's a shame
For you.

Wish I hadn't noticed the strange noise I heard.
Whispers from within,
screaming to reach open air,
itching under my skin,
to be real and true and free.

Gravity shifts quietly, gently
I feel a weight in my arm, unbalanced
tipping towards you
wanting to stretch past the space
the wide space
6 feet exactly,
exactly too close
not far enough.

Pretentious, obnoxious
and yet
I still long
For you.

And then, seeing only part of your face,
the other half obscured by a mask
A physical one
As I wore a different type beneath my own
blue filter
One that didn't show the way my eyes pleaded
to drag over to the right
where I could see you.
To where I could pine
For you.

I know it's impossible,
infallibly fantastical.
But seeing your face,
Again I feel that buzz of attraction
For you.

I still see you when I close my eyes and let my mind wander
I wonder how your face would feel against mine
Wonder how we would feel together.

She says her lover's died in the plague
She buried him already,
Before you came
Last night, stars bright,
Glinting off her metal *****.

It'd be a disrespect, to uncover the body,
They shrug and say,
Poor widow, lover died of the plague,
And at such a young age.

But check her closet now, don't be afraid,
See the kitchen knife there?
Love's red on its blade.

I don’t tell you
Because I’m scared
I don’t tell you
Because it’s something
That needs to be shared, right
This minute
I’m not hiding and
I’m not lying
If I don’t tell you
This part of me.

But
I will tell you
Because I want to
And because it’s
Always there.
Like how I
Would tell you
You’re my best friend
Or how I would tell my
Family I love them.

It’s there
And it’s clear
Perhaps not to you
But to me
And I’m saying it
So you and I can see
Just that bit
More clearly.

Behind a person's success is a sacrifice;
Would you love to know the tale behind?

Actors and actresses preparing their act,
But behind the curtains there's a hidden fact.
Heels and shoes are filled with shards of glass;
Behind dress and tuxedo's there's a hidden blast
— Withal on the lights, they genuinely smile.

Let's move on and see the richest person alive:
They lurk abaft the gallanting suits and tie;
No day their feet cannot step on bars of silvers and gold,
Constantly crediting the humanity's sliver of hope
— Supported by government for the economy's growth.

Do you know someone born to be Einstein's child?
—A person whose thought process is unbelievably wide,
“What are emotions?” They frequently asked;
“Are those things related to a logical fact?”
Feelings are hindrance towards a brighter side.

We all know the people whom we proclaimed as leaders—
Behind the tall, wide walls they silently titters:
“Citizens are corrupted with money and blind rights;
This nation will never survive in a war nor in childish fights.”
Some politicians bought their roles, drinking leisure on their seats.

And there's someone like me— a bit higher, on the top—
Words are magical, making an astonishing plot;
Thy pen bleeds thread, weaving a wondrous craft—
Who knows they withhold theirs and other people's life art,
They'll keep going as long as the threadmill continues to spin.

Their tales are narrated a bit later, a bit little;
But that was a telltale with lots of missing details,
Are you willing to share the secrets found in the middle?

I am a selfish man.
Here, now, even then,
I take all that you give, all you offer.
From a boy to a man, as I suffer,
You arise and blossom, beside me.
Still, my feelings, desires escape free.

Stop this greed—I don’t know if I can.
I am yours, I am a selfish man.

I didn't know what her eyes
usually told others
but right then
they were whispering a secret
she leaned in to give it away
and I leaned in to say "I know"