If a faithful could lie even to a priest,
you too could **** me with just one kiss.
Come to my house, I have great books.
Really great books.
At my bedside table, there,
you’d find everything.
A religious don’t feel God through sea breeze.
Come here, closer than ever, check my boots.
Aren’t they some great boots?
At my bed’s side, I dare, let’s find and do
everything indeed.
You don’t need to be religious to feel my kiss.

He opens his mouth, angels sing
He flashes a smile, what joy it brings
You see his face on screen, the city knows
Yet you won’t find his name on my poems.

He walks like the world is his centerstage
He talks to me as if we’re the same age
You see him ride into the night, a mischief
Yet you won’t hear his songs from my lips.

He opens curtains and car doors for me
He closes his mouth whenever I need it
You see him on my phone these days
Yet he would never take your place.

He said “don’t call me by my name”,
I said “well I don’t want to call you daddy.”
He said “do you wanna play a game?
I said “Not really. How about a bible study?”

I am only your lowly servant,
I feel as miniscule as an ant.
In moans I pray and poems I chant,
I need my wishes fulfilled and grant.
Before you I bow my stubborn head,
after you, lead the way to the bed.
Don’t open your wallet for me and spend,
just spend time with me, or make it bend.
Come to me, even closer and kneel,
why avoid something you strongly feel?
Come for me, undo me, unwrap my seal,
why would I fight? I’d rather go for the ****.
I am only your lowly servant,
I feel as miniscule as an ant.
One rule of my church: take off your shirt,
I don’t even care about the brand.

If I’m going out tonight,
I must wear a pretty dress,
but what color should I wear?
Faint yellow, something mellow?
Or golden, a little bold and brazen?
What about blue? A royal shade and hue.
I don’t want it light, don’t want to leave a clue.
Perhaps I’d go for the usual suspect, red?
Something familiar, garnet or scarlet?
The color of war, as with my heart.
Turn the flag upside down, as my frown,
call a truce or tell me the truth,
pick me apart like your favorite fruit.
What do you think? Drinking with him,
I am holding out my glasses to clink.
Can I know your opinion? I’m with him,
and I am trying not to look like I’m cutting onions.
How should I wear my hair?
Do I let it down and loose,
or do I put it up with the *****?
What color should I paint my lips?
What shade hides “I want to jump off a cliff”?
What do you think?
I am holding out my heart for you to reach,
you don’t even want it.
Can I hear your opinion?
If I’m not going to be with you,
I have no choice but to move on.

I've never been this brazen before, but then I've lost quite a number of battles before. The years have made me bolder and braver.
I've never been this romantic before, but then I've loved and lost several times in the past. They have made my heart more tender.
𝘓𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵...
I've never been this forward with anyone before, but then we've been dancing around the idea of romance for months now.
I've never wanted anyone like this before, but then I've been writing about the theory of romance with you in mind; but how?
𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥,
𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥...
But we've laughed before, had dinners, had drinks, went dancing,
but when I try doing it with somebody else now, it's different.
But we've met before, laughed some more, shared jokes, shared food,
but when I meet someone new, tell me why I miss you even more?
I can't even go out without the street signs reminding me of you,
not that we've walked this city together before, so how?
I can't even go to the movies without wishing you're with me,
not that we've watched a movie before, so why now?
𝘌𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵...
When are we going to try the ******* couple photo booth photos?
When are going to my favorite jazz bars in this city?
When the **** are we going to just try? We'd make each other cry.
When the **** are we going to go dancing again?
𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥,
𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥...

When love found you again, was she wearing red or white?
Was she wearing a dress?
Do you even remember what she was wearing, or what color,
or were you too drawn to her lips? Or her eyes? Or her skin?
And when you found love again, were your emotions contained? Your feelings bottled?
Were your solutions contaminated? Your feigned peace now but an uncalled-for battle?

Poetry is not meant to be consumed like beer or cigarettes
or even gin... poetry is meant to be savoured like wine;
that in slow sips, through mindful mouthfuls.
Poetry is the wine of the alcoholic literature.
Like some love stories are not to be rushed or rehearsed
or rabid or rapid, not a combustion; rather of steady and stable,
like that of the time of waiting for grapes to be wine.

So who’s to say God hasn’t been orchestrating the wars, the famine, the wreckage, the floodings, making us wait for his return,
for the good of all of us? Good by his definition, who else?
Who’s to write that he’s not only delaying our graces by serving us children’s cold bodies for appetizers, before the main dish of eternal salvation? Who’s to know?

Here is a list poem of things you simply don't get to joke about:
Siargao
My body/weight/insecurities
Your marriage
How you're gonna **** me
Your relationship status
You coming back here
Siargao
Your **** size
Seeing me again
"See you soon"
Souvenirs
Siargao

Things that are okay to joke about:
Playful racism
Racist stereotypes
My poems (that means you've read them)
Religion
Not seeing me again
Me not being your altar
Never seeing me again ever
You not being my true salvation