She entered
not walked
entered,
like dusk sipped through lace curtains,
like sandalwood smoke curling into cathedral rafters,
like bergamot on warm wrists,
like the last spoonful of honey
melting on a waiting tongue,
mine.

Cypress glaze glistened in her wake
bitter pine softened by wind-kissed skin.
She carried the scent of
crushed petals and promise,
of rain soaked through linen,
of memory you try not to name.
I watched her breathe
the rise and fall of something ancient,
something sacred,
something mine.

Her eyes closed
and the air thickened
with the perfume of surrender.
My breath slowed,
tasting of iron and figs,
salt from her lips still distant,
yet already staining my mouth.

The shadows bowed.
Yes, even they
those dark voyeurs
lowered their heads
to the holy hush of her presence.

She was the aftertaste of midnight wine,
the echo of silk sheets being pulled tight,
the hush in a chapel
just before vows.

Ocean sound
not waves,
but breath through parted lips,
warm and wet
like secrets exhaled between collarbones.
Her voice tasted like dark cherries and sin,
and my heart?
A cello string,
taut and trembling.

Unbound,
she peeled the weight from my chest
like fruit from rind.
Silken ground met our bodies
with a hush of crushed herbs—
lavender, thyme, rosehips—
the scent of unraveling.
Love wasn’t found.
It settled
like ash on sweat-damp skin.

She sighed
and it was warm butter and firelight,
the sound of a match catching.
Twilight cried in cinnamon tears.
A golden thread
frayed, glowing
spun around her finger
like a spell whispered in the dark.
I followed it,
hand-first,
then soul.

“Rest,” she breathed,
and it tasted like jasmine tea
steeped too long—
bitter, sweet,
inevitable.
But her voice stirred
embers behind my teeth.
She never meant for sleep.
She meant for ruin.

Air thickened
molasses and myrrh.
Her skin gave off warmth like bread
fresh from the oven
I could smell the hours in it.
Her hand
trembling constellation
slipped into mine.
Honeyed lips brushed against mine
tangy with wine,
spiced with need,
soft as a bite never taken.

Fingertips,
citrus-slick and stardust cold,
dragged rivers across my spine.
They sang.
They told me
who I had been before her.

Echo hush
not silence,
but the hum of blood in my ears
as she leaned closer.
Crimson blush bloomed
in places only she could see.
Sensual touch
velvet cut with silk’s bite
wrapped around my ribs
like a vow without words.

Candle breath danced
hot wax on skin,
scent of smoke and citrus rind.
Murmured depth
her tongue behind my ear,
voice caramel-dipped
and decaying every doubt.
Velvet trace
nails dragged slowly down my chest,
painting constellations I would worship.

And in that moment
the incense stilled.
the wind bent.
the stars dimmed.

Because love
true love
moves
like she does:
with teeth,
with silk,
with the taste of forever
in her kiss.

Morning eyes blur
   scroll-feed light
    coffee thoughts stir
      filter feels right

We laugh low
   while pressure climbs
     keep it slow
       and play the lines

We fake divine
   with half a grin
     say “I’m fine”
       but ache within

A meme lands
   but doesn’t stay
     with shaky hands
       we text okay

We wear roles
   in office glare
     with fractured goals
       and perfect hair

Storms run deep
   behind the chill
     we post, we keep
       the look, the will

Speak in trends
   with coded tone
     where silence bends
       we're not alone

Tears get saved
   for late night rain
     the smile we braved
       can’t hold the strain

When lights dim
   and stories end
     truth grows grim
       we can’t pretend

So show your face
   or choose disguise
     we all chase
       some curated lies

My thoughts are terracotta armies
not for war,
but for remembering.
Buried beneath the sleep-skin of time,
fragile, intentional,
but already forgetting
what they were meant to protect.

Each soldier a hypothesis.
Each silence, a map.
Each crack—a failed attempt
to understand why people leave
even when they say they won’t.

Dreams flow like soldered platinum,
beautiful in the way
only toxic metals shimmer
they promise softness,
but dry into armor
you didn’t ask to wear.

I don’t mind the impact,
the crash,
the unpredictable tide of another’s undoing
because even oceans
must exhale.
Even the storm eventually
forgets your name.

But I remember falling.

Not once.
Not dramatically.
Just…
incrementally.

Falling into love that wasn’t ready.
Falling through logic
patched with performance.
Falling for eyes
that said everything
and meant none of it.

They say time flows
but I saw it bleeding,
dripping sideways
through the spine of a clock
that refused to chime.

We walked beaches
stitched together
from half-spoken apologies.
Moments, beautiful
but so easily rewound
by a sudden lack of reason.

And if I had a crystal ball…
would I use it
to avoid the pain,
or just to better frame it?

Would I steer my ship
to safer harbors,
or miss the waves
that taught me
how to drown gracefully?

My rainbow didn’t arc across joy.
It stained my palette
with residue.
Not color—echo.
Not hope—just remnants
of what was almost true.

Crows gather where clarity fails.
Gulls fight over the leftovers
of intention.
They don’t care what was meant—
only what was left behind.

Tomorrow came dressed
as an accident.
Today,
I misplaced again.
And yesterday
it whispered something
I wasn’t ready to hear.

Perhaps we should’ve arrived
with a manual for contradiction.
A diagram of desire.
An index of ambiguity,
where every should-have
had a page number,
but no resolution.

People say they love the rain.

They don’t.
They love the idea
that rain is forgiveness,
that wetness means freedom.

But step outside
and watch how they flinch.

They talk of dancing in storms
but build roofs out of denial.
They dream of thunder
but fear the lightning
that asks them
to be honest.

I drove through the last storm
and saw no dancers.
Just faces lit by phone screens,
cars speeding toward comfort,
no one tasting the grief
that falls for free.

And maybe,
maybe that’s the point

We’re all trying
to understand each other
through metaphors
no one agrees on.

We speak in rainbows,
but listen in grayscale.
We promise always,
then vanish between yesterdays.

And maybe that’s human.
Or maybe that’s just
what we became
when the gods
forgot to write us
an instruction manual.

Does it really matter in the end when the Rainbow Spilled Sideways

I wasn’t made for screens and noise,
For empty days and plastic joys.
There’s something deeper in my chest,
A call to rise, a silent quest.

My hands were shaped to hold a flame,
Not chase applause, not play the game.
I feel the weight of unseen wars,
Fought in silence, behind closed doors.

The dragons now wear modern skin,
Anxiety, the grind, the spin.
They steal our peace, they drain our light,
And yet we smile, too tired to fight.

The princess isn’t locked away,
She’s here in every break of day.
She’s love I guard, the voice I know,
The reason I won’t let life go.

But in this world of ticking time,
Where dreams are shelved and truth’s a mime,
A warrior soul feels out of place,
Still searching for its rightful space.

Yet I endure, I still ignite,
A flicker in the hollow night.
If not to win, then just to try,
To live with heart before I die.

I think I’ll write
another poem
&
name it after you
use words that still confuse me
& then
use them like they’re glue
throw lids on my good mornings
all misread and reused
pretend every day is Sunday
sleep in &
come to
I’m
driving myself crazy
play the same songs
and peruse
the head I use to love you &
the bones inside me too
I will not rush it like tomorrow
won’t try to
burn a tiny wick
still I just
fall asleep to you
writing a poem like
a wish

Every frequency
screams.

My emotions
stuck at full volume.

It feels like
living
without skin.

I see the world
in a thousand
painful hues,
even joy
hurts
a little
on the way in.

I read silence
like it’s shouting.
I feel the shift
when a sentence
lies.
I catch what hangs
between pauses,
what twists the air
just slightly
out of shape.

I carry a storm,
but people only notice
when the lightning
hits them.

I’ve spent years
bending,
folding,
twisting myself
into smaller
shapes,
trying to pass
for someone
easier
to hold.

I’m the mirror
you avoid
when the mask
starts slipping.
I reflect back
a version of you
in a language
you are not ready
to speak.

Am I too much
for you?
Because I
I’ve spent years
trying to be less
for me.

I rise like the Phoenix from the ashes of despair
like a bird that soars cutting the air

I rise like tides drawn by the moon
flowing in crystal water dunes

I rise like winds that spin in rings 
the dawn of the sun that lights night's wings

Like the luminous moon with it's pearly hue 
a glow that transforms the midnight blue

Like the rainbow in love with golden light 
I rise from greys with colours bright

I ride on waves that surge ahead 
the beat of currents on ocean beds

I soar. I swoop
Yet I rise and rise
Every moment that I breathe 
The breath of life