I wanna be near him always;
In his arms,
I wanna be wrapped forever;
I always wanna feel his gentle caress;
Telling me how happy he is whenever he's with me;
Makes me feel much loved,
At times, his hugs are so tight
But I don't mind if it's making me breathe hard
'Coz I'm loving the feeling of being in his warm embrace.
Am I the one inside it?
I want him to take the bestest care of my heart,
Not because it's my heart which is at stake
But because he is the one inside it.
Most of all,
I wanna hear him saying
"I love you"
It keeps my heart happy.
For those days I'm spending without him,
I am missing him
Because I really do love him.
There are loves that can create a new universe, there are
loves that would fill outer space
where stars are just drops of mango juice
and every person you wish wrote poems about you, does.
A macrocosm so vast that
tragedy is only powder and cold coffee does not break
my heart anymore, sadness does not fit in
an oven but float, phantom-esque, in black air
no longer pollution
that slowly asphyxiates, hardly discernible in our palms of
tangible love. You will not have to tell anyone that you
love me because the whole world is our bedroom.
I felt I was dangerous the first time
you tried to fuck me, like I would be too tight
and shatter every last porcelain bone under your skin.
Like my body was a vacuum sucking you in
unable to escape, inland something other than a stranger.
Instead, we became the cosmos
pouring fruit-juice-stars on the unlucky and the unloved.
Glittery, jittery raindrops.
An old, long lost friend turned cold.
Beckoning to move faster, and rush
Until out of the wet, and onto the damp cotton jump-seat
Faked bliss, but still happiness edges nearer
Little green bells of our lady of artistic inspiration
Observation and fresh vegetable
Frog-legs dance on their tip toes.
Buttery biscuits and the sound of gagging from the stall--
Small child-stares, and alone in a fantastic universe.
Melodies cease, imagination deflates
Sticky leaves stuck on black and white cats.
Voracious, they ravage the tall grass.
Passive-aggressive sunshine sprinkles now, and burns later.
Fortifying iced drinks, and pinkish, blueish, purplish
Does the sun go down?
The way I speak
In the car in the morning, or under trees
Is swathed in darkness
My words build walls and facades
And cunning passages, contrived corridors
Deceit, whispered ambitions
I'm dispensing my secrets
But dispensing too soon, or too late
Into weak hands
Or disbelief or disbelief
Or until their refusal to look me in the eyes propagates a fear
That no amount of courage on my part could ever dissipate
I'm covered in locks
Inside and out
But no one has the keys
And I am not beautiful enough
For anyone to bother trying
I think that
They can hide me
In a box
But it isn't
Nothing gets in
Nothing gets out.
I love how you can see your breath in the winter,
It's like some sort of poetic justice,
A beauty to make up for all the leaves that die in the fall,
Something to cope with the tragedy of it all,
It happens every year like clockwork,
And no one notices,
This is proof that magic is taken for granted