if i jot down the first syllable of your name,
think nothing of it.
if i convince myself with a startingly, dizzying
clarity and call it a victory
even if it means losing any semblance of my self-control around you,
think nothing of it.
if i conjure an image of you & i in my head
and pretend we are some depressed intellectuals,
self-hating provocateurs dressed up like some coltish,
out-of-place ivy leaguers waiting on death row,
think nothing of it.
if i'm not careful around you, and slip on the snow
that is the surface of your heart,
think nothing of it.
but if i tell you i love you,
know that it means more than everything that means nothing.
Jan 9, 2023
Jan 9, 2023 at 4:09 AM UTC
during my perfume obsession years,
your scent stung
not like a bee,
but a memory of her cherry-tinged lipstick on your collar.
desire on the precipice of morphing into the stink of a disappointment.
you're the hurricane inside my stomach-- and is this what it feels like?
not a heartbreak, rather
a collapse of an *****
is this what it feels like?
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 10:54 AM UTC
you bewitched me
in all your wicked youth,
night-blooming lover with lips
curved like the moon.
we shiver,
tremble.
you shatter all my mirrors.
i shall love you like none other.
Mar 4, 2021
Mar 4, 2021 at 6:20 AM UTC
ocean, childlike eyes,
dreaming of a thirty nine-year old love song
with wine and roman antiques
in her boudoir.
her mouth tastes like salt
her cheeks, corroded,
russian red smeared on her chin like matisse's red studio.
twelve past ten.
she can't do this anymore.
a royal mess in blue velvet.
this is why you should always keep your heart in a cage
and secure its key from thieves
and heartbreak hotel managers.
because losing him dims all the lights,
losing him is like burning alexandria to the ground,
losing him tastes like an outdated blancmange.
her achilles' ****** heel.
and she can't lift her feet to move on.
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 12:40 PM UTC
we tried.
i did.
you did.
dearest, our love was like the honeymoon
and honeymoon is a cruel sea.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 11:25 AM UTC
she tasted the sun
the golden glow of the afternoon
at the tip of her tongue, swirling, cavorting, inviting, exciting
and he was the night
constantly watching, yearning, whispering words only tricksters or corpses understood.
but he wanted her
oh, he did
a sinful distraction that filled the void in his heart
a bystander was not meant
to interfere with the whales
or empresses
if one refused to receive permanent black eyes
but the girl tasted like the sun
the golden glow of the afternoon
at the tip of his tongue, swirling, cavorting, inviting, exciting
so he let himself succumbed
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
dark clouds hang above me
like a broken chandelier
thunders clap in my eyes
when you're near you'd be electrified
or so your head warns
the rain does not ****
but you are terrified
of me
of my nature
a woman
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 5:05 AM UTC
Her lips, an apocalypse
And I'm on my way to my undoing.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 3:01 PM UTC
Lucky girl,
Having her arms wrapped around you.
She must be smiling when her skin touches yours,
tittering when the snow punches you in the face.
Lucky girl,
She must be smelling like you now,
In the shower and the pillow where you splay your hair,
In her dreams where you amble along the Seine.
You caffeine breath, on the tip of her tongue
She says the thrill is like another day in the sun.
I hope she looks at you like the sequel of her favourite flick
In the morning,
when the sun is dancing in your hair
or kissing the dimple in your cheek.
Lucky girl.
Waking up right next to the soul of this planet.
Breakfast in bed and casual chat about last night's show,
Stroking the cat if she decides to intervene.
Maybe I would never know
how she feels.
Unless she stays until December next year.
But I can't wait for forever.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
You could be an antidote,
a place to hide during the summer solstice,
a pair of closed eyelids during nightmares,
you could be the sweater I wore last Christmas,
a frozen hand to hold in the Sahara,
the smell of the ocean at six in the morning,
you could be the overture of a play,
a love seat in a nearby cafe,
the gradient of colours of a twilight,
you could be the sugar in my tea,
the sound of the pouring rain,
a poetry that lasted for ages,
you,
my gruff voiced wallflower,
this I want you to know;
some love seethed,
some stay placid for years.
some lost their spark,
some still felt like their first day.
but we both know love is a test of fidelity,
a voyage that knows no bound,
so take my hand,
take your paddle,
if you'll row with me until sundown,
let us see where the seas will take us.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC