there’s a road that leads to you
with lines of tulips and everything new
curls of excitement, rings of desire
directions taking me to a place that I'd admire
the streets are paved with you and I
and as I look into your willing eye
I sink into a sensual stream of lust
your chest, a pillow that I potentially trust
you play your guitar with soft hands
the ones that trailed my body and triggered my glands
you drove to my heart like a beginner
arriving like a humble, effortless winner
there’s a road that leads to you but there’s a queue
traffic building as close as I get, nothing’s new
as I, once again, am lost in a mist
trying to get to a place that doesn’t exist
If it wasn't clear, I've come to be okay
with the fact that the world's plans
will always reach an impasse with my own,
and call off all the dreams
it swore to bring to flesh and bone
for me, because I've heard what they say
about that thing called infatuation
(or romance, or some loose translation
of that) and fools; it's easy to tease one,
hard to love one, and it's a life sentence
to let yourself be loved by one;
I was just hoping it would be worse
to never feel the love of a fool at all.
You'll be home soon while I continue to languor in orbit and disappoint myself and perhaps you. As we both go after what we want miles away from each other. Related tho. We are somehow related to each other just like my cousin Chris. I forgot what I promised Chris or if there ever was a promise. Tell him that he's amazing.
I remember when one of his luggages was sprawled on floor of the room he stayed in while he was here. He was folding the clothes he washed that day, and in a blink of an eye there was a pile of folded clothes. He said it used to be his job to fold clothes. How he filled my heart with pride.
Pride. We were drinking in a club one night, one of the cheap clubs in the heart of the city. We were binge-dancing, and he held my hand as we both drunk smiled at each other. And then we looked at the crowd.
He was leaning on me as we were going home, like an airplane on a slant.
For I reckon his plane was on a slant when it landed one February night - as I welcomed him after fifteen years of being away and disconnected from each other, like something was hanging in the air. The eye contact. And just like one of the Coldplay songs, there was a rush of blood to the head. But it flows. All over.
And as blood is thicker than water, tell Chris how much I care about him. More years of disconnection and distance from each other has no connotation. Tell him not to drop something important as he goes to wherever and forget how or when he lost it. Let him drop things when he is aware.
Ps. For days I thought I was progressing when he was still here, like I was on my way to somewhere only we know.
When you went away that sunny morning, I knew that you have led me to the zone between nature and reality. I know you had it for me - a mahogany teakwood lotion, and I could almost smell it. But where is it? Instead you gave me the sea island cotton. Uh-oh.
I took a deep breath
And reached into the bag of my heart.
Before I exhaled.
I took a step in thought.
This gift I have for you, it's not like I have a receipt for it.
Hoping that you'll like the one size fits all kind of moment.
A gift straight from the heart in the promise of watching your face melt in anticipation.
A moment carefully thought out.
A moment I watched everything I thought would never find me.
Stare back at me and breathe life back into me.
Before I exhaled.
I retraced the step I took in mind and decided to give you the whole bag
Hoping you'd understand how much thought I put into giving you my heart
Without hesitation or pause, mindful that no matter what happens.
My heart will always be safe in your grasp
In her heart just beneath her skin lays a tin pitcher.
The spout along with it's sides covered with frost from the coldest of water.
Parched lips long for a drink.
But without cup or glass.
I implore that I have swallowed fear of the utmost; Diving in head first.
A slow sip that eases the insecurity of rejection.
Another sip that interjects that you could be everything that I need.
One more to ensure that I would gladly drown to be loved by you
She wore a necklace of thorn
Protecting the petals of her face; soft folds of petal fluttering in the wind.
In a garden filled with pesticide she sought something pure.
Away from insecticide; A poisonous thought left to linger alone.
She'd often flirt with spurts of wind.
Seeking release from root to stem.
Although covered in thorns I kissed her without fear of being pricked.
Wrapping my hands around her body. Caressing the fold of her face.
Never knowing the touch of hands she nestled her thorns deep.
My hands leaked with affection, providing a warmth that stimulated root.
Far away from pesticide. Other insecticides that would ruin her beauty.
She nestled herself in my hand, creating a garden of her own
All the cliché Hollywood movies keep reminding me that love doesn't come by that easily. And it's a hard truth for me to accept.
And all through elementary I've always been the crush-er, the person crushing on the good looking person over there!
I've never been the person crushed on. But that aside, I've been filled up with all this love for you. I'm not sure if it's real or not.
You see, I've seen fake love so much that I've convinced myself that this love is also fake...
I won't tell you, "I love you" because I don't want to lie to you. But how can I still feel like I'm not lying? I still feel guilty.
I've never been "in love".
I've loved, and been loved in return, but is this--
I know you're out there, but I'm impatient. But I am willing to wait for love... if it really is real..
I'm sorry for lying.
In an affair of infatuation
that happened to me in high school.
She was heartbroken and told everyone.
Then I became the fool
Yeah it was me
I wanted to taste a big chunk of life
At 17 I did not want a wife
She held my hand, she kissed my lips
She told me when she does her heart skips
We couldn't agree
Despite the feeling of egregious lust
This was not a relationship I could trust
She told me she lies awake and thinks of me
To satisfy my sexual lust how easy could this be?
I feared entrapment
Her smooth skin and pretty face
Was it worth the price of self-disgrace
In class, she never took her eyes from me
I was not overjoyed with glee
A clinging vine
Although her company was great at first
For entangling vines, I did not thirst
She demanded my 24/7 attention
To escape her, I earned detention
Obsession or Possession
Her professions of love and eternal possession?
Without my kiss, she'd have depression
She'd call me at all hours of night
And not hang up until daylight?
Hostage to her needs
I started to get concerned and did not call
Or I'd not show at her place at all
She threatened all sort of self-harm?
Once she had even cut her arm.?
What do I get that remains me
She didn't know love from manipulation
How could I have loved self-mutilation?
This was changing from crush simple and sweet
To a horror from which I wanted to retreat.
Sometimes it is greener
I pulled the plug and sought greener pastures
I wasn't kidding this was not empty gesture
This was nothing like love and more like a hi-jack
All I was doing was taking my life back