Teardrop echoes; the tone of your skin drains away,
painting another picture of the night. Whistle-blowers of the night-
torchbearers of the day; kids fighting each other for tree turfs;
skipping stones at early morning ducks. But their mother
inside doesn’t have much time to duck his punch

Well domesticated dogs, too afraid to bark at the night’s
domestic violence. Dominated skin under the dominator’s tight
hands; the love of a shape-shifter— changing its skin to appear
loving for ten pairs of eyes; striking down with a false picture
of love- to the sight of six eyes. Like claws that sink into your
skin; he’s drunk again!

A day away from shelter; for a heaven that does exist from
one’s bruised knees. For all the hurt draped over troubled
shoulders, unfurled eyes crying silent tears bouncing off
the walls

                     A child in the next room hears the teardrop echoes

High on all of the places, I shouldn't survive
-afraid of heights; above myself but also
uncomfortable being so low towards others

Solo: in feeling I must
face all my pains alone

                    That's a notion highly questioned

Adrift in time, I wander down
a long-neglected path, heading straight
for the essence of my being, into the hidden
corners that linger in anticipation, where memories
rest heavy with significance

I stand before a gate, the doorbell echoing
with urgency, its chime resonating deep within me—
each press of the button feels like a heartbeat,
fulfilling its purpose. I can only hope it remains
intact; to maybe crack an indestructible clasp.

Tell me if I read the language of your looks
then I would say you look so good in my books
I didn’t have much to say in person, but just love quotes
and I tried to wave you hello, but you must have been
on another boat

Teenage fever: is the heat of being in love so young
there’s a fire right through your skin- a burning glass
with that bright smile, to give jealousy to the rays of
the Sun

And I felt so wrapped in feelings just by your touch
like a ball of wool, my materiel of words all become
undone…

Tucking away your joy;
caving in a hiding hole- pulling skin over
your head: Uncircumcised
Uncut grass, to the disguise of your hedges
you so desperately try to hide; despising such
a sight, to the heir of your generation’s likeness
of still fighting to feel alive

You won’t come outside;
you won’t live under the stars, to at least
stay a night- your commodity spent over what
you long for: Perfect body, a faithful soul

“Why are they laughing?”
no, that’s your insecurities making you
laugh out aloud, at yourself

A battery tongue to lead
into the energy of our conversations
Leaving that imprint of our first outgoing
experiences: Date stamped
Feelings lost in a brown haze of your eyes;
your skin tone made of mother earth, even
as your cry in pain, it turns into mud

All kisses find their perpetual motion
their thoughts of one’s cocooned emotions—
ear curls, your breath coils, turned into hot coals
a lip bite under the tightening grip of second skin

A riding body on a trip to fill itself
as a heartbeat starts with a hum: drummed in
the middle of a hall; through its walls, sound vibrates
Everything else gyrates— as the hammer weighs down
an anvil: to love her in a set picture, polaroid sometimes
I love her still

I scraped the skin of my teeth
with the value of a man’s worth at market price
My dry and thirsty bones are out searching for a home;
the great times of stagnation— so stuck up on yourself
Lost the eyes of a keepsake figure; crying in your sleep
to wake up to another *******

The pole-vault over a night barricaded by
this indistinct glass of a scentless, texture less, limbo
Surrounded by well sculptured tombs; with an attitude
so stiff, you were born a statue out of the womb

Glued hopes to that fitting memory of your youth,
tucked away on the rack of time- like old stained shoes
Pieces of leather tugging away the past old days;
stepping so softly, ending by the button to start, that
feeling of achieving a dream that still turns you on

I'll turn mine on, to push a little further
through this time of doubt; a higher isn’t lost
…until all you despised is all you’ve got
this is the feeling to the lost, that don’t have a lot.