I have what you would
call a sleeper build — only
mine is built to sleep

just because they gave
more than you did
doesn't mean they gave
their all — like you did

from that moment on
I was no longer just mine —
I knew I was yours

ᴵ don't just undress me
unwrap me like a fresh bound
book straight from the press

ᴵᴵ then don't just kiss me
seek me for air and for warmth —
as you would the sun

ᴵᴵᴵ and don't just make me
feel good — savour me — show me
just how good I taste

the watch on his wrist
says it's time to go — but his
hands say otherwise

sometimes when people
go, they do it for themselves —
so while they're still here
give them a home and try to
take them out of the warzone

CONFUSING as HELL —
not wanting me to leave but
not loving me now

ᴵ you feel the water
rising inches at a time
until you're neck-deep

ᴵᴵ you're underwater
telling yourself that you can
always hold your breath

ᴵᴵᴵ you've been under for
so long, you forgot what air
feels like in your lungs

ᴵⱽ but as the sea claims
the land every high tide — you
claimed the sea as yours

ⱽ you wake up in an
underwater castle that
you built with your hands

what am I good for
if I'm lost — adrift like a
cloud that holds no rain

you'll understand when
you're a parent — is a bad
way of parenting

you know you've got it
bad when you check your watch and
what was 10 is 2

tell me where, tell me
when I can find happiness —
so I can go there

please just let me melt
like small pats of  French butter
on warm Sunday toasts

I smile just enough
and I talk just enough to
keep the questions out

perhaps life is the
spouse and rest is the lover —
my head is our bed

don't give me the faint
glow of a distant star — bring
out your raging sun

to my summer breeze
heavy rain and quiet night —
lie down next to me

you wear my shirt from
the night before like it's your
turn to fill my space

to savor and taste
where there was only hunger
just the night before

that guy who runs through
temples but stays in place — is
life an illusion

I thought I needed
you — for me to be happy —
turns out I only
needed you to be happy —
no matter where that leaves me

no fortune teller
could tell how fortunate I
am to have you near

I cannot help but
notice how that thing between
your legs listen when
my tongue writes long letters and
my lips do all the talking

there are nights when my
knees write treaties on the floor —
of my surrender

lost — yet again — like
the only thing I succeed
in is in failing

you, who asked me if
I already brushed my teeth —
I said I'd prove it
when you come closer and taste
the mint from my very tongue

you, who keep singing
a song after leaving the
room — coming back and
picking up where you left off —
like you never even left

having a blacksmith
for a father always set
the house on fire — some
children get tempered like steel —
some get brittle like charcoal

the thing about it —
walking for miles with storm clouds
overhead is that
the sun becomes a distant
memory, and the shade — home

I carry you like
old locks fastened to a bridge —
I unlock nothing

I carry you with
me — heavy keys to locks that
I no longer have

silence, your silence
is not a void — it is a
warmth I come home to

muffle every groan
and moan,
                     and whimper,
                                                 and sigh
with your mouth on mine

you only water
the plants when you need them to
flower and bear fruit

as long as the sea
ends up on top of me — claimed
inevitably

what if the only
thing I can give you are the
things I leave behind

if you're the sea I'd
easily drown in — I am
the sea-beaten cliff
you can safely wonder from —
of carelessly jumping off

I saw you walk in—
to this place like an ocean
wave — reclaiming land
                                            (I'm the land)

summer is the call
cicadas hum and chirp to —
I answer, find me

focusing on my
pain is how I lose the hand
I'm holding right now

can life lose all its
meaning — and could there ever
be one without love?

joy would always leave
me like a bird that flew out
of its cage and — when
it came back knocking on the
glass — I wouldn't let it in

I don't tell you things
because explaining in length
things long brewing's like
standing at the floodgates of
a river as it empties

know that if I leave
I didn't stop choosing you —
I stopped choosing me

always a lone chair
at every table — am I
meant to be alone?

right at that moment
when the sun disappeared, I
should've broke orbit
instead I stayed in place — stuck
exactly where you left me

this feels like a long
ride where everyone got off —
and then it's just me

for eight hours a day
I die at my office desk —
and then I drive home