I used to love sleeping.
But I dreamed about losing you.
losing you. lose you. l.o.s.e.
So, I stopped sleeping.
I soon hid the blankets
                   the sheets
                   the pillows
I told you about my dream. You laughed
I told my friends about my dream. They laughed, too.

Now, I used to love laughing.
But I can’t laugh if I’ll lose you.

So, I married you.
I soon prepared the blankets
                             the sheets
                             the pillows
And sleep by your side. Now, I can sleep.

Let’s go far-off to where our footsteps left untouched.
Where you’ll never allow my hands to let go, to keep
me always at your sight—no matter what.
For the best thing about you is you.


Let’s keep those stars gaze at us,
while our hearts are busy beating unto
each other’s arm—through cold and hazy nights.
Meet me at the place where we can't count the stars
—nor we can't count how much we miss us.

A palace of memoirs you can always look back over and over.
Maybe a flower field, or perhaps at the tip of your lips
where I can bask in the sweet delight of that taste,
of that feeling that’ll be stuck in my mind
over and over.

You’re the closest thing in my mind.
Or the most familiar heartbeat—uninvited yet throbs.

Maybe, maybe you were there before,
in those blurred, blank spaces of my memory lane.
Praying, just earnestly waiting
to contain me in
your poetry.

Your shape, your skin, your voice
seems a revisit of the past.
Where I’m sure, out there
the universe conspires
to meet us halfway,
promising that
we already are
both part of
one another

You shut your eyes and all the poets have gone mute;
Say moon-waltz. Say gun-stun
—and all the faithful says amen.

Yes, you’re the rogue wave in my belly.
The river, the hunger that drowns me whole.

How you keep my tongue sweet—I don’t know.
You’re the feeling after all the raindrops dropped.
The 39˚ fever, the Sunday morning songs
on the radio.

You’re the coldest pillow on my bed,
the warmest soup on the
drizzling November afternoon.

You’re the night sky lovers wish to keep,
the budding little violets on
the city sidewalks.

You’re all that butterflies, all my heart rumbles,
and all my prayers before bedtime.

She said she was an untamed storm,
—a lost soul in an unending whirlwind.
Or maybe a mess.
Broken. Shattered. Falling.

She said she was a curse,
—a throb that would never let go.
Or maybe a sting.
A bite. A wound. A burn.

You tremble, you fear that
I’ll give up because
you are a chaos, and eventually
I can see that in you.

But then in a flick of my lips, I always knew.

Though my bones will crumble in pain,
I’ll embrace that storm in you.

Though my soul will bleed and cry,
I’ll kiss that curse goodbye.

Warm. Sweet. Gentle.
I always see you beautiful after the storm;
Tranquil after the pain.
And more than perfect
in my arms.

If just for once our lips touch,
it would be a Hiroshima bomb dropped in my heart
—a sweet Lilac in my throat, and a jar of fireflies in my eyes.
As if the crevices of your lips are like windows to my sweet dreams,
a good night I godly won’t stop.

If just for once our hands hold,
it would be an ocean of poetry lines written in songs,
a moment of zero gravity where Venus lands on my palms.
Like a scent of fresh-plucked Lilies crawl back in my neck
—a familiar feeling of first breathing.

If just for once I can tell I love you,
we’ve been folded in cold sheets at still nights,
And I won’t be having dreams for long.
For it’s an oath I’d like to repeat for a life,
Four words to hoping you stay.

If just for once, it can be forevermore.

Come closer dear Death.

I'm here raw,  
bruise is open and lungs are sore.
eyes dilate like a bursting bomb,
as if fear itself fumigates,
combusting, flaring,
seeping inward
without vow
from fumes
to wounds.

I shall row to the ocean
of my regrets,
sulken, and grieving
of the times
wasted
into bins.

To the kisses
I ****** couldn't--
To the hugs
I've chosen not to--

May all be merry
when I'm gone.
and realize
how lone
you shouldn't
be.