how can i say
that i envy the chase
from the tip of my pencil
to your graphite gaze?
spitting my heart
onto an endless canvas
of greys and blacks,
hoping the red would stain…
but it never does.
only your floral words are
indelible on my skin
and the reverse
is just a lie i tell myself
so i could sleep a little better
every forsaken night.
the truth is far from your moon;
beyond all your pretty stars
and iridescent eternities,
it is despairingly beyond my fathoms.
but i hope, and again i hurt
for butterfly smiles
and deluding taciturn undertows
and nightmarish illusions
leaving bruises of you
on the very tip of my lost tongue
and all over my wept eyes;
a lifeless empty void
against the autumn shower
of your warm hermetic glances.
and there is no one else
to keep this rusted clockwork
ticking rhythmically to the beats
of your mindless cradle…
and that is the ultimate folly
of this ascetic destructive shale
that i tactlessly call my soul.
for a fool’s machinery,
this chemical heart is.
So indiscernible to lose itself in
such vitreous self-infliction,
and sabotaging the very blood
that my tiring arteries
now regain, thus to sustain
the very memory of your breath
in tranquil consonance…
foolish—and yet; a fool, i am.
a fool for believing that this
lie was past the dark side of the moon
and beyond my wounded stars
and lacklustre infinities…
you are despondently beyond my fathoms.
but i hope, and again, i hurt.
darling, just how can i ever say
that i envy the calm reflection
from the incipience of your melody
to your coda’s revelations?

hurtful twinges
filling up every
corner of my
expanding coroner’s
disease; debilitating,
destroying, until
what’s left of me
is nothing

hurtful twinges
crashing down every
space of my
suffocating mental
affliction; desperate,
decaying, until
what’s left of you
is nothing.

a severed midnight
taking the calls of a thousand
dreaming souls, fading

i wonder if the rain will wash us away

drifting into a somnolent embrace
against clashing tides of aegan
until i have sand between my fingers
breathing in the hawthorn blossoms

reaching again until it falls
and stops crying beneath my feet

just close your eyes and softly
rest amid sounds of synaptic crickets and
faint traces of chanterelle
between your slightly-open mouth

waiting to hold onto forbidden auguries
coalitions of sweeter reveries
i couldn't find behind your eyelids

and then, perhaps, after a million years under
the stars, i'll open my eyes to revelations

the light sleeps on. where can we be alone to watch them?

pastel laughter, petals of umber
lip-gloss stains and sweet december

brick wall steps, stepping stones
withering glares, i contemplate alone

seven mysteries i don't dare speak
magicians fleet in magic tricks

intervals lead to cyanide infinity
trapped in a loop of tangible vanity

tasting alcohol and numbing smiles
maybe i'll stay here for a while

midnight calm and oceans deep
i'll keep my thoughts in the morning
and talk in my sleep.

an undulating reverie
hangs heavy in the silence
past canyons abundant with sunlight
and dreams made out of cotton

there, beyond the intoxicating haze,
you stood.

my lips uttered no words
that the universe could decipher
but the midnight tide understood
what i truly meant

now, if only you could, ma chérie

but the scrupulous colloquy is bound to break
and the stratosphere rewinds again
past divine oculists and obstinate facsimiles
and beyond the desolate valleys
where no sunshine dares to embark

and what’s left in the end
at the very edge of such a disenchanting,
morose fantasy

is you, and me,
and an undulating reverie.

for there never was
and never will be
a finer vagrant soul
to poetically allude me
than the billows of notes
that fall from your shade
and the stars in your lips
to sing a thousand serenades
dear, if only i could compose
about all my woeful throes
in lights enchanting as yours
no word a wasted recourse
and the aesthete that lies
beneath restless amber eyes
will dream up a promise
for fallen eternity’s premise
where the universe spins
as relentless time should be
and no whispers of parallels
between the lines of you and me
i’m quite dizzy from the sun again
but i’ll close my hands, count to ten
and wait against such fragile hope
that you’re the sunrise to decode
so why do i weep, ever still?
in the midst of my bedroom floor
only bare remnants remain, until
a voice paints a distant nevermore
of faithless keep, an endless rue
tomorrow’s heart, nor i nor you
southern nights, quaint afterglow
the days pass on as we’ll quietly go
i may be weary, yet do not think
i’ll give up when i’m on the brink
let’s chase the wind, and we’ll ascend
to an everlasting paradise we can spend
for there never was and never will be
a finer valiant soul to poetically allure me
than the muse of the moon and billowing notes
that fall from your shade and the stars that you wrote.