Cliffhanging teardrops
are you tired of holding on?
You can let go now.

which sounds less painful
your rude words or your white lies?
whichever, it hurts.

When you left,
nostalgia started breaking
silence in the room next door.
A cloud of soliloquy
broke the ceiling;
dust fell carelessly
imitating
a lame kind of rain.


I heard
how lonely the
piano keys were
missing your touch
the way i do.
Silence drove
the walls crazy;
curtains hung mute
close to being suicidal.

A crowd of cacti
sat on the window sill
waiting for your shadow
to loom around.
A broken frame
holding our smiles
died from suffocation,
decaying on a trash bin
you forgot to trash.



We were
a variety of juxtapositions,
walking around love
with blind eyes.

I gave you my heart too soon
and you proudly broke it twice.

to the guy with muted lips--


you eat words,
crush them with your teeth,
til the syllables
break down
into meaningless letters-
a crowd of singularities
bouncing on your tongue...
altogether,
filling the corridors
of your throat--


just crowding there.


and when you part your lips,
words sink inside you
like residues
atop deadbeat decibels.


your emotions
act like rusty crowbars,
digging what's left of the mess.


my love,
I wonder how you sound.
but it wil never make me...



love you less.

Your eyes hold a promise
of a thousand vignettes;
a sewn art of narratives
and sunshine metaphors.

The soft wind in your hair
is unborn poetry
carrying a hefty cloud
of sonnets and cinquains
figuratively crafted
with a wreath of sweetbay magnolia.

Your heart is brevity;
a tapestry of haikus and senryu,
decoupage of ballads
in a sea of poetic musings.

You are made of rhythmic quatrains;
an endless ocean of poetry.
And i'm an anthophile
with lungs made from flowers


forever drowning in your smile.

(she)

she was just a speck of earth-
a careful girl
in a sea of careless people;
musing back and forth,
with broken flowers at her feet.
she mumbled obsolete rhymes
and whispered sonnets to the wind
the lyrics faded, the air was mute,
the entire world became her nook.


(he)

he was an empty shell
with his heart hanging askew
underneath his worn out sweatshirt
and scarred skin.
he bartered love for nothing
gave up songs for none
wrote poetry for a broken girl,
who's in love with a broken man.

Our love was nothing
more than faded letters
kept in a drawer,
eating dust to survive.
We pretended it died
out of famine
as we discreetly moved on
free of guilt.


But...


I still have the scars
hidden under my sleeves;
begging for attention,
like a kid in the aisle
of a candy store,
eyeing a bottle of gummy bears
and a pack of Reeses.


What is there to miss?


I don't even know
the curve of your smile
when you said a cryptic 'hi'
almost a month ago.
When you pulled me close-
but not too close
because you were afraid of love
more than losing it.


Our hands
weren't made
to touch;
a curve and an asymptote
always r e a c h i n g,
a depressed biology
of 'crown shyness'
moving from trees
to human fingertips.


And so i
planned to leave...


only to see
your addio note
and spare keys
sitting comfortably
on the breakfast table,
having a pep talk
with a cup of cold coffee
and a stale egg omelette.


You won
in our race
to goodbye.