talking in the dark
speaking only with our hands
I found warmth and light

it will all make sense
you can't tell that to someone
who is hurting NOW‎

stop me — stop what we're
doing just so I can get
on my knees to plead
                                      (don't)

you came to take your
stuff — you can take everything
just take me with you

made of soft mornings
humid noons, quiet evenings —
I dream of summer

when people feel trapped
sometimes they're the prisoner
sometimes they're the cell

no one told me that
aching for someone, for love
would be this painful

sleep came with a dream
heard a kid's laughter — wondered
was it mine, or my

dough in the oven
and a lover with their past
— these things won't rise if
you keep opening it up
digging it, calling them out

right hand seeks the lamp
left arm — numb with you in it
I wake up alone

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

slow mornings are for
taking his time to hold me
like a lazy cat

I keep wanting you
and aching afterward — yet
I keep
            coming
                           back

words scatter like wind
and hover above my head
in a nameless cloud

it started with his
voice — deep — then it was his eyes
when he smiled — honest

I hear rain coming
like heavy footfalls of my
favorite person

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

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

can't tell if it's the
cold air — or disengagement
that makes mornings hard

even my own eyes
deny me of my own tears
— what else can't I have

the PARABLE of
the ALL-NIGHTER: "is sleep just . . ."

a SOCIAL CONSTRUCT

this crowded room is
a battlefield where we take
turns stealing glances

the earth was a wide
and blank canvas — now you're my
FAVORITE COLOR

you make sense — like a
warm mug of matcha latte
on a rainy day
                      門

microgravity
behold, this astronaut's set
to find V⊙YAGER

bamboos sway and bend
in the moon's last summer light
we say our goodbyes
                                  門
                            ­      さ
                                  よ
                     ­             う
                                  な
              ­                    ら

how many mails left
on 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 are too many — to
consider stoping?

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

I was up, thinking
were you ever woken by
                    rain, at 2 am?
then I wished I was there to
feel your arms wrapped around me

I take this ring, a
sign of my folly — so I
can pretend I'm yours

peal my layers off
eat me up and spit me out
plant me — I'm a seed

they say looks can ****
but why does mine want you stripped
warm — and on my bed

when my palm is on
the side of my face
and my fingers curl
at the back of my neck
I can't tell
which
feels which

thank the gods we're in
a crowded room — I would've
confessed* where I stood

(*or came out)

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

don't be surprised if
my heart is at the bottom
of a barrel of
flowers and pointy daggers —
mind the cuts as you reach down

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

glorious rain — we
are a storm within these walls
made of two bodies

seated, my back rests
but calm deserted me when
you pressed my shoulders

confession: I thought
the THREE-BODY PROBLEM was
an old ****** case

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

now I know my type
— I keep falling for someone
who won't jᵘmp with me

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

heaven's gate closes
the longer I keep you here
sunkissed, on my bed

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

you ought to be hanged
for the way you stare — gold-framed
in a museum

infidelity
can be to one's own self for
choosing another
person's happiness over
being faithful to your own

flowers and dried leaves —
these GRAVESTONES neatly ALIGNED
  just like office desks
    and cars stuck in traffic jams
      and spreadsheets with empty cells

if you wish to know
me, start slow — I'm an image
still painting itself