You are the orange hue of dawn
You are a sun that warms but never burns
The fires of your hell burn in flavours known to me
Not to be mistaken for religion, but I long for the heaven in you
The haven that is you.

As you grow into my heart,
I can feel my instincts here for you
I learned first, how not to drown you
And now I am learning how to water you
You are a garden of daisies, a sky full of clouds
You are Fanta in a wine glass, the view in front of an ocean
With a smile that can tame mountains, and a laugh that sets them all free
I look at you, and there is something to be seen.

- Kata

I think there is something leaking into me.
I’ve been sea bound and aimless since birth.
I’ve drowned a few times but
My insides have always remained dry.
Seas of emotion have roared at me,
But I’ve always had a certain quiet within me.
I’ve learned that just because I can’t hear their voices,
Doesn’t mean they won’t **** me in my sleep.
So here I am, a sick man but I feel healthy.
Is this what hope feels like?
I think there is something leaking into me.
- Kata

I’ve got a violence in my dreams.
It’s about happiness.
And how I seem to be uncomfortable with it.
It’s like the sin I can’t swallow.
And I’m a little scared that one day, I’ll get tired of chewing.
- Kata

I live for your moans.
But when you go to sleep, it’s a work of art.
On my chest, in my heart.
It’s not all lust, but none of it is love.
It’s not all truth, but none of it is lies.
Forgive me if I’m tragically comfortable in my humanity.
I’ll have you waking up to melanin for breakfast but
I don’t want to miss you in my coffee,
So I kiss your knees and try to be bold.
I’m not all good, but may the best of me be true.
- Kata

And so I told her that my words
Resemble ***** bottles.
I told her that no one gets drunk off just the bottle.
It’s the spirit in the bottle that has you toppling over tables of fear,
And stepping in pools of regret.
It’ll have you slurring confessions of love
To people you have to constantly remind yourself to forget.
It’ll have you dumb happy and stupidly sad.
It’s the spirit that drags out the temptation
Of all that you want to do to her.
Of all that you want to be for her.
I mean, if the bottle has no spirit, why the **** is it called *****?
Similarly, if the words have no spirit,
Why the **** are we calling it poetry?
- Kata