Carcinogenic gasps
between photogenic thighs
create esoteric muscle movement
that moves me inside.
Your parents are therapists,
and mine choose not to be alive;
the words they say
don't work for moments we hide.

Jesus Christ before the sunset rust,
if I'm so alive
then why do I lust
absence.

There's a place
where I'd like to drown
every Saturday.
The water's warm
and thick in my lungs
and I'm no longer afraid.

Colliding with epinephrine,
your neck thrusts forward;
you kiss the steering wheel.
"Do you know
how much
you mean to me?"
Your eyes meet mine  
before disappearing in the glass mist.
I love you.

nobody warns you about the first boy who tells you he wants to marry you.

nobody warns you about the tangible shift in the universe when he parts his lips to smile.

nobody warns you about the poetry he'll write you or how your knees will weaken or the melancholy hidden between the layers of his laughter.

nobody warns you that miles will morph into lightyears and you will curse the ocean for being the only thing that keeps his fingers from resting between yours.

nobody warns you about the day his sweater doesn't smell like him anymore.

nobody warns you that human hands are incapable of holding a person together.

nobody warns you that sometimes love is not enough, no matter how much you wish it was.

nobody warns you about the crippling nostalgia that renders you breathless.

nobody warns you about the nights when silence screams for your blood.

nobody warns you about the crater that forms in your chest in the middle of the night when he doesn't answer.

nobody warns you about how it's going to feel when he tells you he's in love with someone else.

nobody warns you that forever is a lie.

- m.f.

Her grandmother told her that her delicate, intricate, beveling beauty closely resembled one of a rose. On lovely, tender spring mornings, she had soft, rosy pink cheeks complimenting her pink lips, and below lengthy, stem - like legs. Her soft skin radiated with a wonderful floral scent and even when it rained, her freckles seemed to dance across her face like raindrops mirroring the dainty dew droplets that lie upon her white – pink petals. Her whole lively being was recognized to draw in others – to love and to be loved – but without knowing: to capture the victims in her hidden, disastrous thorns. Her heart lived outside her chest, hours away at your window garden, roses were her grandmother favorite. When vines reach up through my head again, and the roots sew themselves to my toes, to be consumed by their splendor again and then realizing she is gone, and there is nothing growing inside you. If winters weren’t so cold, I’ll water from the roots to the vines to become the rose beside the garden inside of her that her grandmother once spoke of.
-         Emilyn Nguyen

It's cold and dark, I cannot see
what future may befall me.
This icy malice grows forever
Inside my soul.
**** me now.

                                                   A hearkened blade draws blood so dark
                                                   that Satan himself seeks a matriarch.
                                                   For his evil bidding need be done
                                                   Inside my soul.
                                                   **** me now.
                                                                                                                     Locked inside, I'm bound by chain.
                                                                                                                     Hope, desire and pride were slain
                                                                                                                     All that's left is an empty shell.
                                                                                                                     Without a soul.
                                                                                                                     ***** me now.

En route to your heart,
I strayed in to,
the lush garden of your youth,
full of  unsullied flowers,
kissed only by mischievous sun.
No man can even, think
of turning his back to this
veritable feast for senses;
it transmitted a vibe resonating,
perfectly with my psyche.

The heady fragrance emanating
from varieties of flowers did speak
of magical pleasures unexplored
I did eagerly heed,
was it by pure chance
or were there  plans to allure me in,
I don't even want to know,
it suits well to my desires.

Amorous droning of inebriated bees
rang in my ears,
making me giddy.
Spring time it was
in your budding new garden,
being a pretender
who  elicits the best effect
you smartly feigned ignorance
of my presence,
(As you expected, I suppose)
I lost my way and ended up
in the spirited night we shared between us,
harvesting wild fruits with a verve
we had never known before,
pleasures of many seasons
were there in store, I was astonished,
a consummate seductress you were.
a she wolf, under a sheep's skin.
but kind amorita, most adroit.

Could I ever blame you
an iridescent creature, exquisite
oh! the candor that marks your surrender!
Scent of flowers wafting on the wind,
created the effect of rarefied air
my lungs are full to the brim
with your feminine spices.

Does this happy transgression
to your secret scented garden
make me a fallen angel,
or am I a  slave of your whims
entrapped for the rest of our lives?
Either way your wile wins
a knight in shining armor or
bereft of it, and naked, for your sake
I willingly submit before
the light that shines in you,
I'd make your garden mine.