Baggage within
      trappings of illusions,
love packed away
  in neat little compartments
gathering cobwebs at
     makeshift improvisations,
dusting intermittently
      if by chance a light
           should shine,
never wholly untangling
    the snare
mid a labyrinth of
      transparent entrapment,  
as violin strings continue
      to unlatch the same old key

what's there to write about
a floor scrubber?

in the sun on my shoulder
its light plastic touch
polythene wrapper
gaily fluttering in the wind
breathing its last light of freedom
before consigned to lifelong prison
standing damp dreaming to dry
but for that fleeting time
it rests on my shoulder
comforted on flesh and bone
on the brief journey
from the shop to a nook
enjoying the glances of passerby
curious my carrying it
a hint of boast in my gait
flaunting as if a magic wand
the floor scrubber transient yet eternal
a glorious poem material
a poem name
and a man's declaration

there's no shame
doing your work
your way.

So I'm
sad that
I can't
conquer
love
and to
think
a year
ago
I didn't
know that
love existed
or that I
could feel it
in my soul
like so

and the sun
sets in its
orange descent
but I see
the world in
mono-color
where I
stumble
as I'm
falling
(I'm falling)
apart

So in hope
of defeating
love, I'll sit
beside my-
self
in the
corner of
my room
and cut
1,000
paper hearts.

I don't know how long
I have

until you decide
you don't love
me again

so I'll sit and watch you
smile
for now
for now where
you're in love with me
and I'm not just a
girl to you
who sometimes
walks away

and when she turns
when I turn
your thoughts
don't stray

for now I know you love me
so I'll let you take my hand and
buy a rose for me.

If I lie here
drenched in
silence
and I see your
chest
rise and fall
in candied
fulfillment
I'll be able to sleep
at night
because my silver tongue
seduced again
evolved into
a siren who can
talk you
straight to ardor.

If I lie here,
soaked in ivory silence,
dripping in your
yearning quiet
a honeyed
aftertaste
to you
then
my chest will rise and
fall and I
will
finally
experience
what it is
to love
and surrender to it
all

Some people are
the poets
who fall in love
with every shadow
on the wall
and every flicker
of a tiny
burning
flare

Some people are
the poets
who drink coffee
dark as pitch
and they press
their candied lips
against the
armor of a pen
who translates
tales

And some people are
the sparks
the light against
the ocean
the little bit of air
that blows the flame
into existence
when I blow it
out again
because I always
blow it out again
and need
the gesture
of
your soul
to light the
fire that
raves in
me.