His rusty doorknob moaned as it peeked open,
The glare from his synthesizer irradiated through the small crack
Yet trekking into my companion’s habitat, my eyes wander down a path
As I examined:
The creamy-white ‘65 Fender Jaguar strapped to his back, idolized like a son to his father
His scattered Rolling Stone magazines, strewn, across his clearly visible unmade bed
His imitation Bob Dylan wayfarers, rested gently on his nostril, accompanying a mischievous smile
And mountains of flannels that he claimed made him appear “*******” and “hipster” at the same time
Obscure in a corner, his preferred foreign films organized in a stack
North of his bed… hundreds of pictures of Lennon and McCartney, signifying his shrine and slight obsession with the 1960’s
To the left, his personalized skateboards, festooned with mainstream company seals and psychedelic band logos
The framed polaroid of us sitting effortlessly on his bedside table
And directly 12 o’clock: his father’s turntable spinning early Lou Reed, beside his collection of dusty records I granted him..

He’s sweet with sugar-coated lips
And succulent and dreamy: a warm hug,
I take a sip of my mug.
The love-hate relationship swirling inside my heart,
Coffee is desire.

Bitter at first; a war between my lips and the cup
And perhaps a bit pungent, a feeling of unrequited love
But addictive and sensual.
“Crashing” and needing another serving
To get a caffeinated love-buzz.

And if it’s doused with sugar,
Love is honey, dissolving in a saucer
And swimming in cream and infatuation.
Our flesh and blood dives into a mug
As it dives into the arms of an admirer.

as the petals descended
i journeyed to the market
swiftly, dr martens thundered
along the clear path
a distant smell of dutch waffles
filling nostrils, though i
had been distracted by the man
plucking the violin, its sound
almost weeping. admiring the nearby canal,
i took a breath of contentment.
serenity.

i can still taste the cigarettes on your breath,
my lips glued to the bottle. it was a new taste
to drown in. i didn't know you would be my river.
now i'm dried up, you left nothing behind
except your fingers that traced against my skin,
the skin you said was delicate as a flower because i
bruised so easily, the skin you said you would kiss
but my bruises have multiplied and join into into constellations
on my legs
and the memories of you are distant, but never will be
cloudy
and i always longed for you to show me what was worthy in the
cosmos, and manifest a sweet disposition to the flowers in my
brain
but i learned that though i am broken, i can still grow
because i know my soul is not to blame, but the anatomy
of his flooded judgment
makes me question why i ever let another being
sink inside me
i wish i never breathed you in

you are sunshine,
you made flowers grow inside
of me
just when i thought darkness had taken over

sleepless nights are calling
they end in measures, they refuse to leak dreams
i can feel a realm filling with rain
i can sense the universe overflowing
and i wander into nothing but grey matter
as ethereal, nothing is greeted in return
why do nights stream voices in my mind?
voices shouldn't leave me searching,
should they?

i don't believe in love at first sight
i believe in lust
your sight that fills my eyes
appeals me indescribably
my life is a travesty
unless i picture you in it
what a difficult task
with your considerable distance
i need water or i will remain
a blistering flame
lift me out of my limbo
concur with my existential mind
at the delightful prospect of meeting someone
new