Love stories are not meant to be lived
you know that from the deleted faces
and vanished traces
of the ones once most valuable to you.

I don't get you I said
don't I feel a regret
for the women i loved
but was never able to live with

don't they still haunt me?

Regret is not the word
the man was adamant,
it's more a mourning for your failure
a tormenting reminder of an undefined deficiency
that you were not up to them
or in the wrath of missing the target
they were not up to you
and then he fired the killing shot

what you remember is not the love
years have wiped out the details
leaving you with the embers of unaccomplished missions
which in the first place
you didn't deserve to be a part of.

I hated his departing words.

True love lives in the stories
and love stories are not meant to be lived.

As I gaze upon the beauty that only so much of my eyes can grasp,

I enter into the universe of a human being who is composed of multiple galaxies pooling together to create a breathless whole. Planets embody the few people he trusts enough to orbit his life, meteors are his conflicting beliefs colliding with each other, while the stars manifest the milestones he has unlocked, and connecting one to the other forms meaningful constellations of who he is today.

As I examine every angle of his curved physique,

I open the anatomy of a human being whose organs agree to a pact  
of building a sanctuary - an oasis that would keep him safe from the evil trying to penetrate his subconscious. The blood in his veins rushes throughout his body to enliven a dormant soul, his ribcage is a fortress that shields his heart from shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces, and his bones contain enough calcium to trace a perfectly disproportional outline of the human figure.

As I listen to the first words uttered by his misty pink lips,

I hear the music of a human being whose taste mixes with unorthodox genres and whose spirit is filled with rhapsodies of the heart. He eludes electronic pop melodies but dances to the rhythm of jazz and the way that he drowns in the unconventional has resonated with the beat of my heart - steady, slow, and sometimes fast.

And here I am, hoping for the ball of luck to find me, because who am I to fall in love with a masterpiece when I am merely an unfinished artwork that ceased to exist?

wings on barbed wire
wave me hello as the train
travels supernova
explosion through
downtown.

we have spoken words
that meant something,
that gripped iron ends
onto our ankles and kept
us close.

in shackles, we outshone
the entire galaxy.
in chains, we sped through
the world catching wind
of bleeding bird feet—the
sweet chips and chirps now
reverberate symphony
through thick plastic.

And I am on top
of you licking your pores
like charcoal.

as we
loom
our hands

tethered
like a
cat's
cradle to
the sky,

a slight shift
of foot and
the landscape
scatters
drunk
as the blue
seas of the
cloud,

the tide
strides to
the open shore,
wind in her
arms,
salt on her
breath,

every step
decadent and
rebellious,

every sip of the
wind an icy
storm,

and the sky
hangs like
a pendulum
in an old
grandfather
clock,

calling out
crazy minutes,
breathful
seconds,

i stand next to you,
knock on the door
of the airy sea
stare out,

curve like
an echo in a
cave,

a handwritten
poem, carved
out of air

while you,
boy of dream,
kiss me like
a wild sea,
restring the
broken violin
of my heart.