On a hill overlooking the sea,
wild-flowers grow
with ambrosia and honey.
The breeze brushes
our cheeks. Touch
my hand clasped with yours in such
poignant confidence. As more than
a memory you’ll remain
here.

Dearest C,

I always thought my love
for my best love
should go recorded through
words.

Once I was a poet with words
so easy to strung. I was
writing letters and stories and poems about love to
people who did not love me back (or was I hoping
for a love greater than what was given?)

I always thought my words would suffice, and words do
melt hearts, shape minds and
chart uncertainties.

But I grew tired. When I met you
I was lost for words.
I was a writer
no longer and
my words are just plain.

But it was in you that I realized,
words sometimes have no meaning, that words were often left
unspoken. I was no longer a poet
but you loved me anyway.

Now, I wish to write you poems and letters and stories as a symbol of my thanks.

I miss you.

Always,

A

Sa unang kislap ng apoy
hanggang sa maliit na baga

ang usok na mula sa dulo ng
pangako, ikaw ang nasa isip ko

hinithit ko ang usok,
pumikit

ibinuga. lumabas sa labi sa ilong
ang pangako, naging usok
at upos.

Marvellous,

Ethereal glow in my *****,

Lingering… why do you linger in

Another space and time?

Nature perceives things you ought (and i

Caught) to hide in the silhouette of an illusion – a seemingly heaven or

Hell!

Oh, **** the repression! verdant

Love! impress me, suppress

You.

The heat of the blazing sun  
will be nothing  
from the gentle breeze of  
your calm and soothing voice.  

The agitated sand and dirt, flying,  
will be pacified,  
from then, time shall freeze and so is  
all the noise.    

What shall remain are  
the tunes you play on your piano;  
the twinkling sound  
of youth, of exuberance,            
          for in every hill or sea,        
          every cloud, flower or tree,  
you shall be eternity --            
          every breath,            
          every scent,  

every note            
          of my unsung melody.

Old memories have         filled
these boxes, of             years of
quaint memories.  Remind me
how it was.                      To be
filled             with memories is
a                                            gift.

May all my thoughts go
flying, like birds scattering
on an exodus.

Your poems and stories,
I have read. You
write to remember, while
I write to forget. You
write to create, and
I write to destroy. You
write well.

often
when it rains
the sun was out
pitter-patter       harder
louder than echoes
of memories returning
when it rains
the sun was out  there
was no rainbow

I have never wanted to
cross.           The bridge
was empty              and
in        utter desolation.

I could
never stop myself
to love you. Is a sin
done in solitude or
shared in plurality?