A gentleman once asked,-
'Why sail the infinite sea?

So torrential and torrid;
too much for me...

Encompassed by water;
no place to flea.

Incalculable harbors;
she hears no plea!'



I raised my face against the sun,
hearing him, but seeing none

Just to be, sir, just to be.

All your promises,
Each whispered "I love you",
Every smile, every kiss,
They've pressed my heart to a page.
Your careless words
Have lovingly tucked me away
Between the pages of your life
A mere prologue for you.
Once beautiful and alive,
Now all that is left of me
Is a withered smile,
Like an old flower,
Pressed to a page.

his fluid being mimics that of cigarettes;
death chopped up and rolled
into a curious little thing

i could hold him in my hands
but that is a mere only;
his wonderment insufficient
my soul too mammoth

my lips crave the grim reaper's touch
my skin detests the flawlessness of
staged idiosyncrasy
this world has seen enough
of those
you yell misanthrope,
but you do not understand

i seek
the intertwining of
precariousity
intimacy marked by fluttering thumbs
tracing specks of golden
on his cheeks

galaxies splashed across the
bridge of his nose
he is everything i yearn
yet;
everything i cannot be
he is my exotic morns
and my sunday siesta
fingertips outline
connect-the-dot maps
i could only ever get lost in


freckles.

like a lacklustre silence
the end of sentences pinpointing areas
chipped fingernails have lusted to memorise

you only crave what you know cannot be.