My friends, beware the leprechaun.
The gold's not worth it.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Nothing will be wasted.
I shall lip everything back,
Lift my clumsy and the naughty,
The ones that never made it
To your heart-wall.

You cannot blame me for thinking
That the flowers are all the same,
Your lily, the opened rose, the petunias.
O this garden of a body you have.
You be-tremble me, Love, even now.

So now, tonight, ever,
We will save them up,
Oh I will kiss them back to your mouth,
This love thing,

To your tongue so tender,
From your neck,
Your legs so slender,
Your shoulders, your waist,
Those young *******,
Then to your soul.

And pretend,
I won't do it all,
All over again.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Moments of impact.
There was a second there before the kiss.
The ungodly hour spent
     And the night of secret fireflies.

The grains in an hourglass,
     How innumerable still.
There was a time I yearn for emptiness.
This loneliness, heaped up on my chest,
And in the afternoons,
     The melancholic burn.

A glimpse of your body.
The affinities of flowers
     With the bud.
An eternity of this and that, of improbabilities,
     Or of unrequited love.

A night without a star.
     A day without the sun.

But the sun's without a day,
     Without you.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

She fell for me, too slow,
As the fabric was, off her bed,
     Slithering,
An hour late for all night long,
Few seconds close to dreaming,
The moon's crippling crescent,
The sleight, the curves of these waters,
     All pronations that are for me,
     Were for me, and mine only, only
That everything smells like fresh pajamas,
Only that this time, for a very long time,
I am waiting, and it sounded
     Like true love.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I vow to love you with my every,
     Every now and then.
So every now and then, I might hurt you,
For great chances had their risky clause,
And so your soul will wash your cheek,
Your nose red from having pinched by me,
     Every now and then.

So every now and then,
Every now and then, you will cry, weep,
And tears will start to dig through my clothes,
But remember from where they fall,
For those are what I fell for.

     Even now. Even then.

© 2015 J.S.P.

The fissure in the skies
(yours or mine)
Are not of distance, nor time,
But of our hearts' disbelief
Of these satellites,
Of these static, static stars,
From ever colliding,
     From ever entwining.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Our love was
(has got to be)
Among the best, the immensest
And the most baffling
Of all the optional things.
We willed it
     To be like this.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

It took a leaf
     And a thousand more
To make this blinding sun sparkle,
And time crafted the elements altogether,
But your eyes took this kiss,
     Just this kiss,
          And then no more.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

There is a voice that enlists itself
To exclusivity, and is patient.
One that never knew the tongue,
But just the heart.

There is a voice that heeds,
And heeds only to your eyes.
There is a darkness somewhere,
That is an origin of light.
Lean to it. It deserves
Your celebrated silence.

It deserves your soul.
It deserves itself, its true.
It deserves...
     ...your love.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

But it is when I kiss you
That I rush the poem of love,

And the righteous time delays
Its clockwork move,

And all the writers, old and new,
Write to agree with me.

Only when I kiss you...

When you begin...
     ...to kiss me back.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Not even the vein
On her ringfinger
Reached
Her heart.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

My heart was
An empty
Nudist beach
Before I met you,
But now
You are there,
We are there.
     And finally
          Are...*

© 2015 J.S.P.

If so, this earnestness requited be,
That as I move the mountains this, then that,
Your eyes, they turn to me,
To ignore the world for coffee cups,
For clumsy poetry,
And then, to listen closely,

Then consider this poet gone,
A word ahead from you,
A blank page behind,
To sweet, sudden silences—
A kiss, a dot, and are ellipses,

For when I love you,
Because you make me want to,
You wring the clothes of my heart,
The high sun is wet,
And I have nothing left to hide.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Maybe next time
It is not just your tablet
But, also, my chest,

When it is not just my tablet,
     But, also...*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I like the improbabilities that go with love,
Just as when I held your hand
But never really held it,
As the physicists would oppose to the idea,
Saying that it is because
Of the electrons and stuff, and quantum stuff
Which I find so hard to believe.

(But you, dear, frankly,
You need not make me believe,
Only wonder.)

See, I look
At you, closely,
And closer still as if
Two comets, themselves, defied
The distance of lightyears,
For me,
Just to look back.

You are a star, love, I think,
And I have likened my self to the Universe,
Not because you are near,
But because you are far,
Yet far enough...

So I could love.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I shall tuck two kisses on your collarbones
Like actual children you will tell love stories to
Just below the fire, the light of your eyes,
Just above the apices of your lungs, your life force,
Hoping in your heart, inside, I slept,
     And sleep no more.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I want to bathe with our lips in the sea of our kisses,
Luring out the young laughter from the depths of your soul,
Lather the thin foam of the blue poem that is a rose sometimes,
And reconcile your senses to a deep sadness, to the ways of its touch
As though to fish for the ripple, for the boot of your heart,
And wade out your breast, your chest, your tenderness,
Drown fragile towards you, in you, as a piece,
The center, a bait for your blossomlove.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

O mystic mesmerizers you close, and weep, and burn, glorious,
And beam inward this light of night from young rose to bud maiden,
And slip, sleep, slim in my arms as in a dream I had truly lived,
Failed life in reality, championed love, lose fame, and flame,
Pressed and flavored lips with you, and savored, fashioned
The silhouettes and silences of our doing,
For you, you only, only because, had eyes that were fireworks
Fireworks imploding, captivating, and are twin mimosas, phoenices,
And are falling back perfected into a sacred place,
A mornstar to the early dew, the first of this clumsy heart.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I bottle dandelions, silly-saving them up,
Fearing they will never reach your shores,
The blue island, the rose
Of your lost hope, as I see to it
That you know, understand,
With the subtlest implications,
That the bouquet of my love, your love,
Misses you back.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I write a piece remastered as though
To make love. It is when my poem engages
And at the same time disengages,
Where the reader keeps wanting, and
Bare, barely, retaliates.

So the poet was a man
And the reader was a woman.
When I write, I hold
And hold her hips.
And the pull was the pull
Of the lips of our kiss.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I breached the bridge
Between your *******.
Find me there.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Should snow and dandelions cross,
I might stop loving you.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

She alone will understand
Why the word star in my poetry
     Will never be well put,
Why the colors and the setting change,
And how her name
Does not ring the same,
She alone, where we, she
     Alone.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Are those who does not hope,
Does not, also, love?*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Should a star learn to hurt another
     Without hurting itself,
As I, for one, am also capable,
Know, that to begin with, before the impact
Or little lightyears back,
We were not from different constellations.
We are still the same,
     Portenting love.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

The Sun had an arrow
That could pierce through the Moon, but,
Withdrawn, disintegrated
     Into stars.

And such is our love—
A close one, a closing one,
A consolation,
An exchange
     Of well-wishes.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I patrolled the heavens of her stars,
The little lightyears, their folds,
Lightly, with my lips, as I took
A handful of celestials,
Of one of her two
     Twin galaxies.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Waves on the waterfront.
Sun eloping with the sad waters, the lulling ones,
Leaving forlorn the lavender froth
     Of this mischievous sky.

The wind fled and felt heavy
And heavily so for what it cannot touch.
A cicada sings to the ghost of his lover.
A tree misses, always missing,
     Its first leaf.

And I miss her...

The frost of our memories
Thaws away to my soul
As the slow burn of remembering.
And this time, for the very first time,
My heart felt
     Like an inhabited isle.*

© 2015 J.S.P.