arbor - Hello Poetry

i’ve lied all this time, waiting for your voice to call “can you hear me? are you okay? talk to me.” but can you feel the fury for me? the smallest trickles of sweat— golden on my face —will love you in the shade. can you mean it when you tell me you want to stay silent? or my feet will feel weak and my legs will crumble and i will find myself straying away to the road. i need anyone, but i want you. i want to be held halfway between heartbeats. i want an answer, delivered in the quiet midnight blue. but maybe i won’t hear you, and the world will stay just as cruel to the both of us. but even then, free me from my stasis. even so, hold my hand with fervor. this may be all it looks like, but whatever grows beyond here, carries more than just the unknown.

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Feb 25, 2020

Feb 25, 2020 at 8:41 AM UTC

can you hear me?

i’ve lied all this time, waiting for your voice to call “can you hear me? are you okay? talk to me.” but can you feel the fury for me? the smallest trickles of sweat— golden on my face —will love you in the shade. can you mean it when you tell me you want to stay silent? or my feet will feel weak and my legs will crumble and i will find myself straying away to the road. i need anyone, but i want you. i want to be held halfway between heartbeats. i want an answer, delivered in the quiet midnight blue. but maybe i won’t hear you, and the world will stay just as cruel to the both of us. but even then, free me from my stasis. even so, hold my hand with fervor. this may be all it looks like, but whatever grows beyond here, carries more than just the unknown.

27

your lens tuning itself to me bathed in viscous red it thickens; a smile of pure outrage pins to my cheeks with such force you don’t know how many times i’ve prayed for this: a menagerie of bottles splayed out on the table like drunken bodies smoke streams from your lips across a green fall of light, these days will become nothing but sections of a film suspended between hands. i cannot find within myself any semblance of aliveness if not under your embracing glow i can only pray with ire to the wisps of the night you will never find out how long i’ve waited.

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Jan 27, 2020

Jan 27, 2020 at 9:40 AM UTC

aploi andres

your lens tuning itself to me bathed in viscous red it thickens; a smile of pure outrage pins to my cheeks with such force you don’t know how many times i’ve prayed for this: a menagerie of bottles splayed out on the table like drunken bodies smoke streams from your lips across a green fall of light, these days will become nothing but sections of a film suspended between hands. i cannot find within myself any semblance of aliveness if not under your embracing glow i can only pray with ire to the wisps of the night you will never find out how long i’ve waited.

23

happy we are— my father in the driver’s seat, sleepy pupils set on a starry screen —palms bloodied with sweat. “turn right in fifty meters” otherwordly whistles fall past my origami eyes, while silver bullets carve a gentle varnish on their cold, black portrait. i search for you inside a brazen, leather-skinned bull; across a glossy loaf, i see, scattered and dimpled, your elegantly ruined face, and can’t help but notice that tinge glazed upon like dressing, from between my eyes, along the outline of your ear. and as droplets of canary englazen my entire being and as i, myself, am prepared, unified, and divided again— and as if you, yourself, were waiting for me at the end of the elephant’s tail— i’ll await unchained hands whose nails will scratch at this unleavened flesh— or at least, i may hope —for what am i if not the object of another faraway song? blessed and cursed with distance and desire, which god will tell me that our fingers may meet?

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Dec 22, 2019

Dec 22, 2019 at 9:35 AM UTC

kitrinos

happy we are— my father in the driver’s seat, sleepy pupils set on a starry screen —palms bloodied with sweat. “turn right in fifty meters” otherwordly whistles fall past my origami eyes, while silver bullets carve a gentle varnish on their cold, black portrait. i search for you inside a brazen, leather-skinned bull; across a glossy loaf, i see, scattered and dimpled, your elegantly ruined face, and can’t help but notice that tinge glazed upon like dressing, from between my eyes, along the outline of your ear. and as droplets of canary englazen my entire being and as i, myself, am prepared, unified, and divided again— and as if you, yourself, were waiting for me at the end of the elephant’s tail— i’ll await unchained hands whose nails will scratch at this unleavened flesh— or at least, i may hope —for what am i if not the object of another faraway song? blessed and cursed with distance and desire, which god will tell me that our fingers may meet?

27

across her golden, gabled field i saw you-- my beloved, detested, metallic colossus --once starry-eyed, once honey-skinned, we bathed in that shrill of your voice, how endlessly shimmering it was. as if to suggest disturbance to the sky, your darkened eyes pierce upwards they pierce the sky and pierce the clouds and pierce my own. they are your sabers--i realize all too late --forgive me, my beloved, detested, grotesque, your screams were strung on telephone poles while your blood irrigated these wheatfields, and we relished in that ignore and in that bliss and in that love. so, my beloved, detested, unholy swing the iris's hilt-- how i beg of you --and tear down the rain.

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Oct 22, 2019

Oct 22, 2019 at 6:41 AM UTC

saka

across her golden, gabled field i saw you-- my beloved, detested, metallic colossus --once starry-eyed, once honey-skinned, we bathed in that shrill of your voice, how endlessly shimmering it was. as if to suggest disturbance to the sky, your darkened eyes pierce upwards they pierce the sky and pierce the clouds and pierce my own. they are your sabers--i realize all too late --forgive me, my beloved, detested, grotesque, your screams were strung on telephone poles while your blood irrigated these wheatfields, and we relished in that ignore and in that bliss and in that love. so, my beloved, detested, unholy swing the iris's hilt-- how i beg of you --and tear down the rain.

23

men loaded with guns guns loaded with bullets bullets scorned out like merciless sentences berated by the harsh blue and red --and white again-- before it all spills onto the ground murky and grotesque and divine into the dusty cracks they'll feel his breath subside.

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Oct 22, 2019

Oct 22, 2019 at 6:34 AM UTC

kingdom

men loaded with guns guns loaded with bullets bullets scorned out like merciless sentences berated by the harsh blue and red --and white again-- before it all spills onto the ground murky and grotesque and divine into the dusty cracks they'll feel his breath subside.

10

your name to me is like a hive of bees alive and unapologetic inside of my throat i itch to shout to you to sing to you to flee into you it is my faith that tells me i’ll stand in silence in your arms in your eyes so every gently fallen night i pledge to you my every breath and to you every hitch of my breath and to you every shaky riposte to my breath darling, my darling may i be so bold as to call you my darling? will you wait for me and will you stay for me and will you shout to me it is my faith that tells me i’ll find patient grounds by your side.

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Sep 11, 2019

Sep 11, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC

amor

your name to me is like a hive of bees alive and unapologetic inside of my throat i itch to shout to you to sing to you to flee into you it is my faith that tells me i’ll stand in silence in your arms in your eyes so every gently fallen night i pledge to you my every breath and to you every hitch of my breath and to you every shaky riposte to my breath darling, my darling may i be so bold as to call you my darling? will you wait for me and will you stay for me and will you shout to me it is my faith that tells me i’ll find patient grounds by your side.

22

i dance, i dance to my starry-eyed love song. i dance, i dance even in ash, we’ll sing along. eyes and ears like cinder bricks, their faces have known no hue. and pretty, pure, wretched white flowers vied for sun from the cracks in their skin. “take root, child,” they whispered a lullaby veiled in milky, murky convictions, it’s a dead language the flowers sing, their soles will batter all the ends of the earth. undeserved, unfair, unending is their floral dance, dust clung—desperate—to a serrated stem: every swipe of the tender, silken dress is a strike to their shaded, cavern cheeks. we’ll dance, we’ll dance to our teary-eyed love song. we’ll dance, we’ll dance to the song strung centuries long.

0

Aug 28, 2019

Aug 28, 2019 at 10:05 AM UTC

dusty ocean song

i dance, i dance to my starry-eyed love song. i dance, i dance even in ash, we’ll sing along. eyes and ears like cinder bricks, their faces have known no hue. and pretty, pure, wretched white flowers vied for sun from the cracks in their skin. “take root, child,” they whispered a lullaby veiled in milky, murky convictions, it’s a dead language the flowers sing, their soles will batter all the ends of the earth. undeserved, unfair, unending is their floral dance, dust clung—desperate—to a serrated stem: every swipe of the tender, silken dress is a strike to their shaded, cavern cheeks. we’ll dance, we’ll dance to our teary-eyed love song. we’ll dance, we’ll dance to the song strung centuries long.

20

darling, stroke me in this instance strike me in my temple, there is patience here; the ground on which we stand for now, knows no fury the sky is washed with lemonade and you can see, on the outskirts a dark, foaming omen. but never mind him. we are in an aperture, angel sweat cascades like sparks off an anvil stain the soul with an evergreen petrichor. we are human. and we are not. lemonade, aperture, petrichor— the sky will enrich my hand with yours.

0

Aug 19, 2019

Aug 19, 2019 at 12:40 AM UTC

typhoon (while in the eye)

darling, stroke me in this instance strike me in my temple, there is patience here; the ground on which we stand for now, knows no fury the sky is washed with lemonade and you can see, on the outskirts a dark, foaming omen. but never mind him. we are in an aperture, angel sweat cascades like sparks off an anvil stain the soul with an evergreen petrichor. we are human. and we are not. lemonade, aperture, petrichor— the sky will enrich my hand with yours.

19

windows rattled on edge, huddling against our cinder blanket, it was on the frame that we etched out, prematurely, our obituaries tilting in a tempest; the world shattered away with some painter going off to mourn his shards slicing the cliff of your cheek, weathering, eroding, dripping like the earth’s wine

0

Aug 15, 2019

Aug 15, 2019 at 7:43 AM UTC

typhoon (while in the living room)

windows rattled on edge, huddling against our cinder blanket, it was on the frame that we etched out, prematurely, our obituaries tilting in a tempest; the world shattered away with some painter going off to mourn his shards slicing the cliff of your cheek, weathering, eroding, dripping like the earth’s wine

13

the ocean fell in sheets of cold, unrelenting ice like a blanket with holes snipped up in an indigo night, like a robin maniacally flapping, flying too far from home. beside him i stood amongst the dragon’s onslaught amidst his water, ice, hail in unending, windy ballad and he screamed deathly, beastly wailing against the thunderclap, stabbing into the gust with a conviction veiled behind rainy eyes.

0

Jul 29, 2019

Jul 29, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC

typhoon (while on the hill)

the ocean fell in sheets of cold, unrelenting ice like a blanket with holes snipped up in an indigo night, like a robin maniacally flapping, flying too far from home. beside him i stood amongst the dragon’s onslaught amidst his water, ice, hail in unending, windy ballad and he screamed deathly, beastly wailing against the thunderclap, stabbing into the gust with a conviction veiled behind rainy eyes.

15