There's a mystery

in him that I like to know --


don't, do, like to know.

⁠Even if you are an enemy
who's bound to hurt me,
I would still ask you
to come sit and eat with me.
Even if you are an enemy
who's sent to capture me,
I would still ask you
to stay for a while,
share even this one meal with me.
Even if you are an enemy
who's ordered to **** me,
I would still ask you;
"Have you eaten?
Kumain ka na ba?
Ya comiste?
Ja has menjat?"
And if you say you haven't,
I'll take out the plates, but
I'll be angered.
Because look at the time!
And if you say you already did,
then I'd let you take me out,
my head lowered.
You can waste my time!
Even if you are an enemy
who's bound to hurt me...

You like to pluck the
bones of my ribcage, with your callous
fingertips
Till they bleed
Like I
pluck the strings of my
backwards guitar, and watch the
flowers wilt away

the pain rampant to my emptied faith,
showered upon a cautious bed of weeping lilies,
loots a once blissful child
whom begs to **** the relic sun...

there is a lovely green lotus

unfolding from the center of his eye,

as if the iris that looks upon my desperate body

is the darkened water from which it sprouts...

My kisses ask you:

please love me, I do love you --


because I kiss you.

We talk searchingly,

confidentially, as if --


we are weaving dreams.

What does my father

smell like inside, how much worse --


than his stinking breath?

Barefoot, my mother

squats next to me in the grass --


very intimate.