I want to sign my signature on her lips
so subtly; they are my lips
tongue as the pen, and saliva as the ink
quick! then jump overboard
into the ocean of her light
become the navy-blue wave collapsing
on those precious feet
and let my everything sink
deep into the many colours of this love.

I wait for sweet rains
anticipation broken
by my surrender.

somewhere in my mind
a sky is full of kites
sunflowers blossoming on a hillside
fields of grapes, of my salt mixed with your perfume
my eyes drift across a canvas of waves
on which your warm feet have flattened grapes
into a sea diluted of sadness
stretching far from left to right
and wisping clouds above.
the heart follows timidly behind
approaching cautiously the soft strokes and waves
seeing each kite as an arrow
shot into the air by Cupid's jealous lover
as heaven's golden eye creeps past the mountain,
dips into the ocean
leaves this sky
a sweet, light wine; leaves me tipsy-turvy
while one can't help but believe:
loveliness is a vine mapped out within each
arms can hold, arms can drown
...I await yours.

Travel has ruined me.
I live in a desert
Where the people drown themselves
In spirits
And ciders.
Today I visited the sea
It renewed the spell it has on me
So that when I venture out of its sight
Weakness grabs a firm hold of my throat
And pulls me under foaming waves.

Are you a star?
Do you look down every night
and convince the lonely
that they are still life?
Do couples watch you
and, just as silently as the way you blink at them,
fall in love with each other.

Have you,
for centuries
piled on centuries,
sat still and thrown your magic at the sky?,
smiled a tooth-full smile of unrequited love
that shines for people light years after?

Do you sometimes implode?
Yes you do, I have seen it with my own two eyes.
I know you try to hide it:
you implode at a distance
to not hurt those around.

You are a hopeless romantic
who gave birth to a son.
After the sun, there are three stars
held together by gravity:
love must be one, I wish to be one and you the other

though I feel like the sun
on fire: burning with anguish, with the torture
of so many drawn to me but not wanting to touch,
with frustration at my memory forgetting your touch
and longing it at the same time

I feel like the sun; the star you forget is a star
admired from afar, watch him burn from afar:
a beautiful, lonely implosion
a spectacle to the world and its cousins;
gravity is me pulling you closer but unsure of myself
and you looking into a shy fire, afraid to get burnt.

Today I typed into Google
How far are the stars from earth?
I do not think I am a romantic
Surely you would have asked
How close are the stars to us?

Yes You must be a star
and I a city at night with every light turned on.
We catch eyes across this dark field
and you turn away so quickly after
I am Sorry
I have been busy
feeling for the light-switch in every space within me
then I got to where your room would be and it was empty
you had left without saying a word
with trembling soles I followed where your every footstep led
the tracks suddenly disappeared
and tonight you're in a full moon's sky
throwing your magic
smiling with that tooth-full smile
for all else but me
and I am a city
far below
with every light turned on for You.

But an apology flies
beyond yourself
to land on those places
you never knew you had hurt;
the thread that holds a scar together;
it speaks the language
only wounds and time know
and offers a sweet prose;
- Sorry.

An apology has wings: a white moth
of truth: it flies from the quicksand grave
of self-importance - beyond you - to land
on those barren places you never knew
you had drained of colour; it spins the thread
that winds a scar tight so that it does not grow
into the volcano
holding its shadow hostage
with the threat of eruption,
rather it must be the outline
of a mountain range of memory,
a reminder that beauty builds
its shape from the ugly things it conquered;
sorry - it offers a sweet prose,
speaks the gentle language
only wounds and time know.

Now swings the jacaranda
with the joy that had ceased to glow:
from the depth of dark blue times
comes violet sweet-singing like old;
the tree never will forget
even in its brightening dreams
the ash-smoke story of how
it once lost all of its leaves:
each a tear: for fond memory,
goodbyes stolen by suffering's thief,
autumn giving no notice
of winter dressed only in grief;
standing lonely in the night
as winds whistle your sad tune
looking up to not believe
while in your spirit's June:
stars are silent explosions
at peace with the still moon;
you are not the moon or sun,
the stars are what's left of you.