In a frantic search for my gaze,
searching my eyes just to love me- you never
truly found me in all my vibrant colours;

I apologize for the worst version of me,
that I always gave to my past lovers- I apologize
for not seeing you in all of your perfect colours;

We could have painted a beautiful picture
together.

Let’s strum a song on the acoustic kiss of your lips,  
and I’ll feign mastery of every chord; yet when it comes
to the lyrics, I find myself adrift, missing most of the words.  
Let’s chance the spark of romance, with our hearts poised,  
eager to sway in a dance.  

As your tears start to hit the floor,
pouring your essence into my embrace—I feel love’s warmth  
seeping from your very pores. Yet, you remain unfazed,  
to not bat an eye- swinging at my heart with the allure
of our candid exchanges, swinging wide like church doors.  

From a bell that resonates above my thoughts, the sound
of your name echoes in my mind— a melody played with
the ease of a Sunday morning, harmonies wrapped in sacred notes.
We are the embodiment of the perfect love songs we’ve shared,
living each moment as Tomorrow’s notes.

If I lean in to kiss you now, will I find myself regretting it?

We began as friends, but as time passed, our feelings
deepened into something much more profound.
There’s that void between us, a question lingering in
the air about what could bridge that distance—the
tension of silence hanging just before our lips meet.

The real question is: will I cherish this moment forever,
or will it haunt me with regret?

The recklessness of a fresh romance- I've discovered my heart,
yet my mind slips away at times. It’s drifting like whispers
in the air- to such feelings always so deep; a delve into
my heart's desires. But a mind wandering sporadically,
lost in this enigma of passion.

Head over heels for you- I’ve been swept off my feet,
without a grounding force of reason. These are the
auditions of an excitement that comes with nurturing
a budding relationship.

                          Exciting much?

In the fray of lips, what real significance
do most of my words hold for me today
My eyes are like two unyielding stones,
cloaked in these skipping shades of grey;
I've witnessed love's deceit; so profound
that I tossed my own vision away.

Still, I’ll pursue every dream I cherish,
and remain hopeful even after I pray
—reflecting on the struggles that shaped us
all yesterday, which have led me to this day.

Even if greatness eludes me, dear Lord, grant
me a life of purpose, so I can declare that I am
truly living close the means of being okay…

To witness the entire world bathed in a single hue—  
I must have been battling for ages, confined to the realm
of purple through these battered, violet eyes. Yet, I found
myself dreaming—gently; amidst a sea of blossoms that
blanket the earth, soft carpets for my tender feet; the
fragrant embrace of lavender.  

So intoxicating was the scent that the deeper I ventured,  
the more it constricted my throat, stifled by the words  
I longed to voice. I wander through lavender dreams—
bewildered and lost; forever searching for a tangible end to
this reverie.  I leap, I tumble, I labour, and I cry out—  
carefully navigating the edges of reality, only to become
ensnared in a daydream.

But aren’t the lavenders as enchanting as her gaze; a girl I
yearned to love, though our time together was fleeting.

We never shared that vision of a wedding day adorned  
with lavender blooms, yet still, I hold onto the dream  
where I walk in dreams of lavender.

You're a ship and I'm a wreck-
Our love met a titanic end
Still, we'd sail around the terms
Of being close mates

Too see you again;
You can still claim a spot
By the window seat of my heart,
Gazing straight into my soul.

Tears cast shadows; I can still hear your quiet sobs echoing
in the night; the love etched into your skin is crumbling under
the weight of this love game, much like a fragile house of cards.
Could I offer you a more favourable deal at discovering love?
Do you still recognize the beauty that resides within you, or have
the echoes of those who captured your heart dulled your shine,
leaving only the sting of their betrayal?

I’m on a quest to find the melody that resonates with your heart;
though it feels as elusive as seeking out David’s hidden chord.
It’s as if your inner strength has been severed, much like Samson’s
locks. But if I were to gently knock on the door of your heart, would
you welcome me in, or would you push away my advances, toppling
the pillars that support my pride? I can’t help but wonder if I’ll
ever see you again.

Losing fragments of your essence— those fresh nicks from a heavy
blade on your hair; each strand carries the legacy of generations,
a tale waiting to be shared with your heirs. Ears dulled by the
overwhelming tide of emotions, as the ocean of your tears are
divided for the two days you permit yourself to weep. There’s a
Moses in your gaze, appearing on weekends when the burdens
of the week leave you feeling so weak.

Knees trembling under the weight of an unyielding deception—
striving to connect to an acceptable truth; through a faith that has
morphed like a password to someone’s compromised Wi-Fi.
Choked by the very words you struggle to articulate; those
emotions blur the line between reality and forgetfulness.

Tonight, you ventured out to dance with your own spirit—both
hands firmly on yourself; yet the crowd feels a bit too touchy,
with those who aspire to be G.O.A.Ts You turn to them and say,
“Please keep your kids in your pants.”

Your hair was shorter than the breath it takes to articulate your
thoughts, as you begin to feel like a transparent shard of glass: a ghostly
figure they see through. You entered this multitude hoping to remain
single, but to at least mingle with kindred souls who endure every hit
life throws their way, encapsulated in a brief collection of life’s greatest
hits from a solo artist’s single. We all crave that connection with people.

Or be it so- I was lost in your eyes grand gardens
taking done a couple fieldnotes; be it a couple ideas
of me imagining ourselves as couple of old love notes

Being cherished love letters, timeless and tender
under the glow of city lights, even when your lips
appear slightly troubled, envious of the brilliance that
surrounds you

I’ve come to take note of my love phases, needing to
be rephrased- finding a new means of expressing my
feelings to someone so new in my life

Sweetheart, let your heart be an open book, and I will
be the unique tale that unfolds just for you, revealing
every chapter of my essence.

Cherry lips- the bite of sweetness in the very kiss
stings at my flustered cheeks; breaking my eyes to
tears, as I shut my eyes. My love, I have no doubt about
the warmth of your touch under my skin—beneath it all lies
a treasure chest, a key to unlock the flood of emotions that
surge like waves crashing around us.

We are ultimately overwhelmed by the layers—
the concern for another’s happiness woven into whispered
prayers; calling out for her soul- I once stood as a warrior,
battling my own feelings. But it gets so hard to contain my eyes
when we’re both naked and alone- a warrior standing in front
of a Medusa who turns me head to hard stone

I feel so ahead of myself- but our faces play no deceit,
in her eyes she’s made me so weak; to treasure every
step she takes walking on my mind- I should kiss her feet;
I should bow to her, showering her with love in every
fleeting moment, crafting a week worth cherishing.

          Ah, the ecstasy of those cherry-kissed lips...


Oh, the sheer joy that washes over me when my lips meet
those delectable cherry-kissed lips are simply enchanting!
It's as if a cascade of emotions erupts like a dazzling display
of fireworks, igniting a flame of passion that flickers at the
corners of my mind, crafting a rich embroidery of sensations
that is both exhilarating and intoxicating.

The sweet taste lingers on my tongue, a delightful reminder
of the magic that unfolds with every tender kiss; a euphoric
daydream that whisks me away to a realm where time ceases
to exist, and the only sound that fills the space is the rhythmic
thrum of my heart, blending seamlessly with the symphony
of longing that envelops us.

The pulsating rhythm of sound crashes against my ears,
resonating deep within her essence- those shattered fragments
have been mended, creating a sense of wholeness for both of us.
Your soul is a sanctuary where I find my refuge, and through
its window of your gaze, I glimpse the serene blue reminiscent
of a crisp, clear day, washed over by your tears. I slipped through
the fissures of time, where what feels like eternity is merely a
whisper of the long-lost days of our youth.

I extend hope to you, like a dream offered to the weary eyes
of an insomniac; I express my thoughts as gentle lullabies, soothing
enough to lull a multitude of lovers into slumber.

Your boundaries resemble a box filled with crumpled matchsticks,
a tongue parched and coated in the remnants of ash. You’ve yearned
for love, waiting for that first drop, now tasting the last. Yet, you
remain burdened by silence, unable to voice your desires, and sadly
weighed down by those you once held dear.

You've transformed into a fallen star, your essence suspended
like vibrant neon lights. It pains me to realize the depths of feelings
you'll never know— as our spirits linger in a shared dream, each of us
isolated in our own worlds.  All we seek is true Sincerity.

I am the infinite glass- the fragile barriers closing in;
A weight of the seed nestled deep in the shadows of the earth—
I am the inaugural stone, hurled into the depths;
The one that no one pauses to ponder whether
I will drift or quietly descend

I am the cracked brick, a seemingly trivial fragment
Of a grander edifice; yet, my absence resonates in
The echoes of this structure's eventual collapse
I am the glove worn by a *****,
Shielding an outcast from the harsh gaze of the world
I am the dust that mingles with ashes, lodged in your lungs,
A painful reminder of each breath you take
I am the wandering mirror, capturing and reflecting
Your sorrows back at you.

I am that infinite glass, my hands slipping
Away from my grasp, and in this loss, I struggle to uphold
My spirit through the lens of your experiences, I see the entirety
Of my being reflected back at me- I am that infinite glass.

You have outgrown a handful of lovers and a multitude of friends—
separating your solid pains from a liquid of your tears;
But you were caught in the strain, for as you grow and change;
those you’ve known will grow away to be a change of friends

Through every fence we ***** between ourselves, some remain
on the side where you cultivate your life, while others are
relegated to the opposite side, merely spectators from afar

Maturity is a bittersweet taste:
the sweetness of realizing your growth,
akin to savouring a fine wine, - contrasted by the bitterness
of knowing you will part ways with a few friends
Cos as you feel alone; you’re not the only one in this
world to find growth

Mix a bit of dye inside your tired tears- perhaps you want
to dye that colour of the ugly world you see; doesn’t fear grip
my hands, their surfaces fragrant with the scent of decaying leaves;
Shape me into the very skins trampled beneath an indifferent
pair of feet  

If only I could be a speck of dust—  
oh, that fleeting taste of recognition; to possess a name
held in high esteem—suffering. Or perhaps it’s merely a mark,
like a hidden dialect I whisper to myself when no one is around.  

I exist like the foliage of a tree, leaves drifting around us,
crushed and scattered; observing them through the window.  
But who, in truth, is observing us?

To bury a charm within this grass;
Let it stretch out my reach by a third of an arm-
I've been a love dealer, I was a third wheeler;
I was a candle maker, before the candle holder
Drifting in the breeze like a forlorn leaf
From a withered flower...

So cover my face in dirt,
To bury myself beneath the charm that does
The heavy lifting- love is so unforgiving; pulls me
Back further away- it's so **** receding, yet my longing
Only grows stronger; but I sound needy even
When I'm pleading; still my heart is bleeding

Still a man now, but also just a hopeless creature

Rusty finger nails pierced into the
walls of scratching the night
There's an ear hole of your own accord
bleeding over your hearing of that pain-
Waiting at the back of your dreams; you
probably lived your whole life in a taxi
You've been overdue for love,- their really
owe you taxes; as your face held a field of
all your tears, to water the after pastures

You shrank away grasping onto old figures
of yourself- you had a crush for someone for that
long, that they crushed you under their thumb,
and from those skins is where you bled

            "We can only be friends,"
                                                they said

The whirlwind of thoughts, are all so trapped, like a gridlock
in my head: red, green, orange lights flash as I linger on
the edge of despair. Just two hours past, I savoured my own
pride, now I drown in a sea of spirits, chasing a fleeting high.  
Let’s ignite a night of gold with a silver-tongued deception,  
As the evening blurs into a dream, I find myself drifting off.  

What drives us to step into a club?  
To leave pieces of our hearts while yearning for love?  
To grasp one last taste of our youth, before it slips away.  

I’m in the shadows deep, I've sought the night, with these spirits
raised and smoke clouds in their flight; escaping echoes of the
past, in fleeting moments, I breathe fast.  

I take a dance with demons- I pursue them to shed the skin that
I once knew. In twilight's grasp, I find my way, but in a journey
forged in shades of grey. I carry no shame except for the shame
I willingly embrace.

Life:  
I knew you intimately, yet our time was fleeting.  
Fair enough, fair enough, I take my leave from all.  
In the cacophony, a haunting echo of guilt lingers;  
I can't grasp the reason, nor who merits such sorrow.  
But pin me against the wall, and I’d still feel like a fool,  
With a gaping void in my chest, I’d perish young, a foolish soul.  

I hear the melancholic tune we hum to remember you,  
Marking another year of life, wrapped in a heavy shroud of despair.  
I can faintly hear the last birthday song sung in my honour;  
I wear a mask of smiles, offering thanks in more ways than necessary,  
Anything to bring a glimmer to their bright faces. I suppose I should.  

I suppose I should bid my final farewells, as if I haven’t  
Done so every sleepless night, wishing for an end by dawn.  
Yet here I remain, trapped in a hazy recollection that isn’t mine.  
I dream of becoming a poem, only to find my conclusion,  
The final pages, the last words. Perhaps tomorrow, I’ll awaken
to nothingness.  

But is it possible that one day I might weave these thoughts into
a poem, one that captures the essence of our shared existence,
even if it leads us to face our final moments in solitude? This thought
lingers in my mind, sparking a deep curiosity within me.

As you reflect on a promise of tender hands; tiny
tremors shake your will to hold yourself together-
Tethering lines of kisses guiding your eyes to a moon
as you are a bright smile of the day, and the cool
whisper of hope late by noon

We’ve been lost in the yesterday of a garden filled with
flowers, that grow brighter as I look at their hues- I’m giving
my affection by an attention to pick at some petals: darling we
Both grew into something special; through a dream bending
my will to ever say no to you

Sometimes I get it wrong- especially when it comes to the
unspoken language of your eyes, daring deep inside my soul
when we’re alone to our own thoughts on this long drive home
My aim was a bit off, off into the places I think helps me better
into seeing your pain- but I can’t read your brain, measure any
of your griefs, or attest to being able to share all that you have
experienced

Still, I can offer my very dreams as an escape

The deep crimson wine simmers beneath the weight of your tears,  
your timid gaze fleeing from the shadows of your fears.  
How can we ever measure the depths of your anxieties,  
as they pull you toward destinations that seem to beckon endlessly?  

Underneath our shared facade, time rushes like a fleeting breeze—  
our days slip away, morphing into weeks,  
while your knees buckle under the weight of memories,  
the fractures of your bones now echoing the passage of years;  
some days shine brightly, while others cast a dull shadow.  

I often picture you from that last summer—  
the way you carried your father's care, the way
of your mother’s confidence radiated through you;  
how beautifully they intertwined
I reminisce about the home we once shared,  
our dreams adrift in the currents of our minds,  
fragile skins brushing against one another,  
as scars bleed into one another.  

I found a heart, one I never truly possessed,  
and I was overjoyed—yet now it feels like a distant memory,  
all those moments now lost to time;  
I wish I had clung to them more tightly.

To all the boys, we're going out for a night,
Toss a coin to say we're just chasing tail tonight
But we always have to keep a heads up, for when
You probably get denied by a dime, twice this night

As we’re drinking like it's the end of a movie scene-
Waiting for our eyes to fall to black, we could barely see

Unfortunately, I caught my teeth in the skin of heat,
And I tell you- it wasn't that wise to try and dance;
Hoping to give all my intentions to her eyes chance-
But by a glance, I seen all her friends having a good
Laugh behind my back, all because of my two left feet

I was sitting by the mailbox waiting on love,  stiff as
a recently washed shirt- sitting on an ironing board
I’m sorry if you catch me in a sour mood, there’s this moody
spirit that let me fall in love with the echoes hitting the wall-
While my voice was shouting at the wind; I could hardly breathe
My lover played a tune with my beard, as if they were guitar strings-
But I couldn’t complain to this lioness, for she’s the roar of a
mistress’s hungry temper

But I still love her so, still from the days of our courtship- and every
night she opens up to me as a suitcase, and I bare the luggage of her
nightly sores, with these bags hanging under my eyes-
I still love her so, as her chatter mouth is like a tap running,
and I’m her sink catching all that gossiping spit-

I still love her so, even as she’s an office desk covered in endless
papers, when she starts to feel like a piece of work-
I still love her so, cos she firstly showed me all of her flaws,
so nothing she does surprises me at all; still she was pleasantly
surprised that I still chose her, to be my wife

I reach for her- so lost
she waits for me to rise up to the occasion
but I am an escalator with a line so long,
She takes my hand- so warm
breathes on my neck, to the sting of its cuts
desperately sinning; these eyes being so cutthroat  

I feel her in my mind- overthinking
wondering if my actions push her away when
she senses that my mind speaks out of another
She slips from my eyes- I’m crying
afterwards she kisses my eyelids, granting me
the ease to show my true face; it feels so strange

She is not like the rest- her sleep disrobes me
as I watch her pleasantly sleeping by my side;
I take care of her as my wife, love her as a sister
protect her as my child, respect her as my superior
hold her close as a piece of my heart, close away all
that tries to harm her as a barrier door-

I have no sense of fear when she’s around, but
I am so fearful of who will take care of her
when I’m finally gone

Aim for my heart, calling Heaven above; an angel has
left me to tears, down on my knees- racing across a
bridge reaching out to my heart. My eyes have been thrown
into a sea, deep down until I drown, in the depth
of her passion- it’s her world in my eyes I see

As she touched the most sensitive part of me, this nuptial
union; we are only human, seeking to multiple- there’s
always that desire of creation in both our eyes. We’re now
together— alone at last; to reproduce our life’s kind,
and putting ease to restless minds

Her kiss of oxygen turns into flames- I turn off the lights,
and still see her body glow; skins smooth as silk- free
from these robes, to a sight of her that soothes my tongue
And with a coy smile, we’ll rekindle the fire of our body’s
fireplace once again, tonight

Give me a handful of compassionate lines to a poem
even as I lay panting with scorched hands- I still
hold the purpose of holding her hand; the love
of my life with her beautiful eyes- a muse of things to
write; being an ignitor of tenderness; she rains
down a well full of dreams- a shower of stars
As the spark of our love has given us both a
flammable night, ...illuminated all in an instant

Do pay attention to a love mate who comes to you,
for in these modern days, they seem so, so few…
a thousand may come my way, but even a thousand
more could ever add up to the worth of my very first poem

There’s a perfect smile drawn from a shadow
-as it suppresses memories far sanguine to the mind,
at times we marvel at the stars; looking up to at
what we could be: though we are bright stars filled
of many, many scars

Dreams lost in mirrored streams; cascading days
into one another- tears lost in a serene night;
your luminous eyes could never tell enough of your
tragic story; as their naked glances bear witness to
other people’s perfect stories, who see other people’s
perfect stories

They seem to carry a proud radiance; it does seem
that way, if you don’t really know the full depth of that
story— there’s a darker majesty behind that perfect
smile with mounds of earth covering over their trembling
vein, and unyielding flesh, to come under self-control

Puzzled— are all of the pieces falling away,
or falling quietly into place: these are assumptions from
the course of nothing, hoping to become something-
As for something for the time, I’ve come to ask whether
the feeling of nothing isn’t a feeling of things not fitting
well into their place

The picture feels like a maze labyrinth of emotions,
written so well out in braille- as that’s all I can honestly
feel right now

As the laid grail, comes from a sore back with *******
sacrifices- through the chambers of night; that which scares
me the most, is the constant nights where I’m trying to put
the puzzle pieces together of my life.

“I miss you,”
And that’s the fact I hate the most- aggrieved
By every memory of us, every grain of our love
Even if it was for a short while, cos for a short while,
I felt so happy to experience love again, to smile
Because someone made me smile, to laugh with
Someone in private, even if its for the silliest of things

                                                                                                    “I miss you,”
                                   And that’s the fact I hate the most- and it’s in such
                               an uncomfortable experience, that the mind tends to
                                 wonder in all its what if’s— but more so, I question
                            myself of whether I was the one more in love than the
                                                                                   both of us combined…

                                                    “I miss you,”
                           And that’s the fact I’ll always hate the most.

Envious to myself to be called out as your
baby, despite how much she nurses me-
all the night she prays for my blessings; while
during my day I act out as one not considering
how blessed I am to have her… her clothing prepared
to robe me with the covering of much respect

Her sacrifices are unsung; reaping all for me to sow
—and by the bruises on her heart, it has to show
as young as she was, she reflected a mother's love
put all together in our pretend house

we were unashamed under a tree’s fruit to ripen-
perhaps I missed how to her, this was our very first
date- but please forgive me, for not seeing how my
childhood friend didn’t take our childish love
games as just another game
                     I thought it was just a game of house

In, and out, out, and in
breathe in and out, out of breath by letting
the toxic vapours in— coals of heat beating down
a ****** nose; won’t any of this sin, dissipate from
these constricted pores. Is he not still suckling on
love with milk teeth- how sheepish are his eyes, to
bleat himself of being silent

Oh, how my tears have been cleaved:
the sheer will that lives out on the streets- I’m well
fed & bred as a duck, spread out through time as the
covers of a bed: but where to rest on this old
mattress, now springing up  

                            (I’m still hiding your hands
                       far from the reach of feeding yourself
                the harvest’s spoils, to make your teeth rot—
Everywhere, their mouths are wide open as doors;
hinges for the bite of blight teeth- all doors are
portals judged by what comes out, but more so
what they must keep in

From the wild wheat, split and well broken,
whereas nature shows her mercy to not sting
your feet; as these boundaries are meaningless
to wild creatures; as the wash of your fears is
mostly made of us leaving tear stains- waiting
for that harvest in a direction, we only know

Spit grain to a graze on a stone, hide all of your
dreams in a piece of melting snow- while the
earth is still steep, her every ocean so, so deep
As your footprints in her sand is just an empty
space; that recollection of those old skin shoes

I once thought ahead of all the questions hanging;
but answers are always so ahead of us- revelations,
above us all, oh, sweet Lord, I’m only but a small
bird, not much bigger than a person’s thought-
I don’t really soar most days, but push myself to
at least float; as the hardships of life have taught
me how to live, but haven’t taught me to fly

The emptiness: you’re so longing to leave behind the shadows
left behind your eyes; watching quietly all the things that start
to feel so summarized; building memories on every fibre
of your skin, like towers crashing down in their own defeat
as my eyes watch the young die younger, to feel a bit alive

“Do I see dead people,” be ahead of most people- “do I behead
people,” live a once lonely life, cos it comes with no sequel;
but depression, a subtle prequel- subtracting most successful
friends to feel equal. I fudged up: sugar butter, milk and cream,
but still don’t feel as sweet as enough

Been so hurt and wounded- “something I also know” Felt so
traumatized to act hospitalized- “something I also know”
Done so much good, to get bad in return- “something I also know”
Gave all your trust just to be damaged- “something I also know”
Tomorrow’s sun seems to bring you darkness- “something I also know” Been in the company of friends that betray you- “something I also know”

The loudness of depression silences you- “something I also know”
Had so much opportunity pass you- “something I also know”
Hanging around those feelings making you want to hang
yourself- “something I also know” Feeling all, you can watch is this
world’s poison, to want to poison yourself- “something I also know”
Tried to give another shot at life, to feel like you want to shoot
yourself- “something I also know” Please let me hear out the pain of
your story, rather than getting to hear your story while
attending your funeral- the pain you feel is a pain I also know

Dye a picture of an ugly world to that empty gaze
—sort of like your makeup disguise; but not so much the
makeup for shallow beauty standards, overshadowed by
dark eyeshadow. As she puts on a lot of guard, that her
body feels like a suit of armour that emphasize flaws

While her eyes sparkle a quick romance; so much heat
coming out of her pores; hot sweats while he sits next to her,
calls her name, and glances her way… a nocturnal creature,
pressed against the heat of day, pressed against the wall, that
she broke a bottle of hot stuff in her back pocket; to claim
she had a fire ***

To be honest, he’s really the bigger *** of them both,
incapable of hiding his cockiness — pants caught down
they’re so outlandishly unlike; but that makes them like
each other more, and much like the petals that gracefully
descend to the ground: their story of love starts falling aside

Yours: were those repetitions of actions; underneath the comment of
her starry eyes, waiting to add an explanation of my place as her caption.
We both explore the aftereffects of years of catching onto one another—as the successful hunt shows pleasant results; while the longer course of it comes with many love scars… but along the way, I heard the spinning tales of your story by the roundabouts. All the places you had been, shouldn’t have been, and a lot of questions about your whereabouts. Whereas the hoodlums turf their side from the thugs, and I make a territory between us, to avoid long hugs- a criminal kind of love

We both know the boys who keep a contact list of girls to pick out from, as like commodities well kept: she knows a message well sent, as the night gives the best of time for us to act like our true selves

Let’s not jump into so many conclusions as if leaping into big decisions; as our memories are well kept in sky, but at times we seem confined by these crying ceilings. For a worthwhile love, we live to find a means of making a quick buck, copying that success and sitting back while the currency prints- there’s nothing wrong with such money-making schemes; unless it gives others the idea of buying into dreams. And unfortunately, we both quietly know what that means



Sort of met by carnivorous eyes- feeding desires
into one another; a few lives cut short to the unsettling sound
by an incomplete strung of a chord. Rebellious young ones
sneaking out to the clubs, later on tamed at home; there’s
such a thirst for our wrongs when we’re perfectly alone—
but as you miss someone as much as a faithful faster
misses lunch, even a clone of them wouldn’t do you much…

Breakups do cause ill actions; “you said you’re not sick
of me,” but I subtly taste a bit of ***** in these latter kisses
—let’s talk to unlock our deepest feelings; dialogue is
key. The end of her blush is the brightest of spots, but is
a sign to end a conversation with an abrupt full stop
“Fool, stop,” her forced smile must annoyingly be saying

Those face masquerades must be working hard today;
without sounds of cries- pretending we enjoy telling
each other, “yeah, we’re fine,” or was it the rephrasing of it,
to admit to ourselves that this love has always felt like a fine

Bursting open in the dark, the eyes metamorphosis
that bites at the primrose – as the yellow blossoms
fold away into the sun; staring at dry tears…
that familiar drought of words to cater for growing
younglings; walking them down the path for better days

The lands bloom with industrialization for the work
of poverty’s hands - stretched black fingers across
to anyone who tries to bring crime to end; also stained
by doing such crimes to make end’s meet, of those fathers
who hustle all day on the street: called out as deadbeats
even when their fill their bellies with meat

All of which are the eyes filled with hidden lies; disguising
themselves of doing well, “of course I’m doing much fine”
underneath a place of broken roofs; old newspapers to fill
the emptiness in plus size shoes, that have to last you the next
few years – all are insisting to survive; praying for a divine
help with stored up faith, to put food in their empty shelves

How once ancestors lived, of self-sacrifice to go out to
provide for your family’s needs- history does always repeat
itself — but this barren land bares no seeds, no capital to
sprout most of your bright ideas; while weeds of corruption
grows faster than food- feeding ourselves well into wickedness


These bedded nights, so afraid to pray for strength for
tomorrow; if tomorrow will keep us going for our strength
to survive- still the length of your strength begins from the
mind: what do you put in it to strengthen it more… turning
pages of the Holy book, or touring pages of the internet’s
standards of one’s successful appearance, of looking good

Plan out your actions wisely for the future; strategies on an
ordained path – the sweet coming of the morning is the
hope we all must hope to hold; for no one really knows when
it’s their time to go; the end is truly unpredictable- unpredictable
as the end to this po…

Let’s start to make impure this fine linen, tainted
by both our body’s heat— our feet wrapped into
each other; open yourself to me, wide as these
clouds part away from the sky, to paint out such
an astounding spectacle

Along the pairs of flowers on your cheeks, right
here on this rosy bed, while words are floating at early
morn pillow talk; as that after pleasure still chases
after us both until the noon

Could we not have at another go, if it’s not too soon?

Soon as the wheels start to turn, upon these grinding
mills; my thoughts feel placed on that aware grinding stone
— that after most of my corny remarks, they somehow get
from you a serial response, to this series of our love making

As my summer to my eventual fall; the rev of my rocket engine
that yearns to break through the atmosphere of such fleshly walls-
a world that men look so forward to get lost while they explore

Could I implore you to let our horizons light up abroad; brushing
our warmth against one another of rays like a blanketing sun—
we still could mix a bit of fun with teasing harm. And capture the
savouring flavour of this love as it is found

As how I found you, isn’t how I’ll leave you- as
my left behinds- besides your behind’s juicy fruit
there’s still a bowl of the tree that I must sample
of its sweetened vines

This honey of the moment, has made jealous bees
crash land into that closed window- their sting of
which makes them so short lived. Yet the sting of your
lips, proves the revival of my stinger’s gift, to pull
the nectar that waits for me from the flower’s honest
form

Tables are set in place; the appetizers have run their
course of these sweet nothing’s words; as the di-vine
air becomes so thick- trying to challenge your cheeks
as my eyes appear as a lost lion in need— a lioness
burning away in her heat. Come to me oh darling, to find
such a sweet release

Strike a chord with this smoke, playing addiction
in a thin tune- call for a rematch; as the fire that
escapes my lungs are many exorcisms: buy me
a healing patch

Years afterwards; my voice thins out with time
like there’s helium in the air- all of the warning
signs written on the box; the very first few puffs
were a sign: a youngling’s toughen coughs

Inherit the habits of man’s old habits- the coal
miners who must have breathed ashes; those we
were quick to call a bunch of dumb *****- now
we’re the ones lost in the ashes of their past

Chimney throats; the tiny stick we all thought
would paint us boys into tomorrow’s men- then again,
not much of us will be old enough to see a tomorrow
by this cancer stick’s end. Oh, what a shame

Counting all of the steps of the mountain toe
-preserving the flavours of her lips like fine gold;
Give me some time to find the right words, picking
them out for your ears performance, as if looking
through morning flowers- for a rose

The taste of her skin is clay for moulding; those
decorative smiles to hang onto the time two lovers,
can share of the night- her innocence that’s in high
regards; soaring with the doves

Luv, I hope all of my words are loved, as I watch
all of the beauty created from your hands; your
very candid spirit is endowed in your very oxygen, for
every kiss of ours is a place we are both bound to one
another… lips are the bend of history, tongues dampen
the past, as the breaths are all unto generations

All the trouble
kept by a phone full of receipts
-you don’t check up on her much;
as she wears a pretty blush on those cheeks.

And she looked
at his hands and feet, trying not
to denounce his name, but ever growing
jealous of his fame: all the girls know his name.

Who knows,
how many he’s actually touched,
and walked them all to his quiet house
much less than he does with this current girl

And so, he asked his boys:

hey who’s that girl sitting by herself by the
corner- is she a party for the night, or just a drugstore
is that a spark in her eyes to call this a match;
or is she one fighting to not be boxed by love?

But for her:

she’s drinking something twice her age, but she
asks herself what’s the real age of being free- living
like a chemical, cos no one really knows the shape of
you soul, don’t you know?

She wore a wig only as a bold choice; she pulled it out
the closet filled with dust and shadows— searching for
a good time, passionate or novel. He looks to be strong
with his jawline; perhaps he’s taken a few by the chin;
so if she denies him, he probably won’t throw a fit

Eyes in the trickled stream
quiet inspirations to a quill pen- holds
of a high protection in its feathery shield

black and white- across the cavalry patrolling
against otherwise rebellious thoughts
desperately trying to ignore those ill voices
that speak to me

The story of the poet who killed a billion
pigeons, to dip their feathers in an ink, to
cope with all the insanity that rest at his brink

In such a forced game of Tetris-
coming across those who block progress;
the hostility, in the sweats of labour mopped
up, by the heat escaping most of your pores

cupped lips, just for a little fill of a loving
kiss- the material of body language with a
string of words- long enough to reach the
****** of any conversation

Expression doesn’t exist much from a stranger’s
lips; lest you know their face with a sight of
good will. But I must be far short of the sun,
to give such a bright smile as a comforting
response- a single moon under its loon

of a man hiding away in these shadows

The ***** of old cigarettes
-their draft up your nostrils, going to war
with your lungs. Making rivers of red,
wet big eyes: a sore sight to the very mind

And came a sweet bite out of a cutie pie
whose sweet lips offer up such a surprise,
a slice of life; cherry filled with love- with such
a pinching sweetness, with a little hint of that
piercing on the tongue

So, when the two kiss, there’s a cigarette
flavour added into that tasty piece of pie

Your face blush is like red tomatoes
that look almost pink; you give out this
warm kind of smile, that blankets me by surprise
beneath the second nature of your silver eyes
the words of affirmations you give me, grants
me tears, and gives me so much poetry to write

Holding time to each other in these aging hands
let’s build a blue house to hide away our blues-
bites of the sound of love to your ears pricked
behind my eyes pictured window; I can still see
through your body’s frame- with those tired eyes
that once bought into dreams, I’ll sell you the rest

Let the enhancement of those weights give a better
feeling to your life, as salt over your horizon’s shoulder,
wait, as we wait to get much older- the days must get older
for our hearts to both to feel much warmer. Those tomatoes
will still remain so red, to their well appearance- you’ve
kept me well fed.

Zip tie lock your legs- anchor down your stress;
change the fabric address of that nice sunny dress
Body full of blows, skin made of dust; counting on hope,
joy, and sorrow, every after hour of the day’s settled dusk
From telling thin lies from the thick of red lips on a reed,
to all those gears of ideas start to shift away- taking steps
in reverse, when everything is exposed of your old deeds

Tears in the river of tiny ripples to the sound of love;
to be honest it’s an unfamiliar sound- 3,500 mites;
become a float of those ticking ideas. Scrums around the
clock, sharing bread crumbs with old chums— those few
who actually stuck around

As time starts to show, on the flakes of skin, the loss of
strong hairs; you feel much older to a recent picture-
the unfamiliar creature, invisible to so many people
But with a smile, you appreciate all the places you have
been. You must be ready to meet your King…

Good enough lips for old discussions; acoustic ears pulling
at the strings of all we get to hear; I wish you were still here
Turning the dial, that familiar sensual feeling on life’s radio;
you were just a stereo—two channels away from falling in love,
in a forgotten tune of something close to an old love

My slow breaths exhaling, to your many breaths
inhaling; swallowing words to a prayer; happily fasting
on every time it takes, to admit why you actually fell in love
Filtering most of the hate I once had for you, funnelled out
of my folded brain— paper notes of love letters I kept away
from my curious friends

Dreaming of falling in love; soaked tears in my eyes, during-
to just to recall it all, as a *******; as if I were falling
from mountain springs; cold to your very touch of another
winter’s rain. And in a single way, I kind of enjoyed being
single for just another day

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.