Though authors are a dreadful clan
To be avoided if you can,
I'd like to meet the Indian,
M. Anantanarayanan.

I picture him as short and tan.
We'd meet, perhaps, in Hindustan.
I'd say, with admirable elan ,
"Ah, Anantanarayanan --

I've heard of you. The Times once ran
A notice on your novel, an
Unusual tale of God and Man."
And Anantanarayanan

Would seat me on a lush divan
And read his name -- that sumptuous span
Of 'a's and 'n's more lovely than
"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan" --

Aloud to me all day. I plan
Henceforth to be an ardent fan
of Anantanarayanan --
M. Anantanarayanan.

He wasn't very beautiful, no.
Nothing extraordinary.
But he was everything I was looking for.
Car rides from school have been imprinted in my memory like hands in wet stone.
His cigarettes filling up my lungs with smoke and leaving my brain rushing and wild.
The way he looked at me, I couldn't even tell you.
I never had anyone look at me that way and haven't since.
It wasn't as dreamy and beautiful as I might make it seem,
Still remembering it with my former teenaged mind,
I spent most of my time wanting him to **** me in the cleaning closet upstairs at our after school job,
Or at least touch me, nervously.
But that never happened.
I did however find myself touching him.
Reaching into his soul and pulling him out until he couldn't hide from me anymore.
I made myself his home and stored his thoughts, desires and pains in myself,
Like his suicidal tendencies,
His misunderstandings and anger,
His love for my friend, Katie.
Different than ours.
I felt heartbroken,
Yet so happy as long he was,
And while it seemed unfair
I finally passed infatuation and found love in its purest form,
No matter how unfair it was.

I am an insomniac by association.
I associate with sleepless nights and mindsets that are too wobbly and shaky to be anything less than a tornado.
I want to rename my veins after hurricanes.
This one's Sandy because it washed away the girl I loved in New Jersey.
Because the ocean is never as salty as my cheeks after I kiss her through the miles.
Because I am not a boy, because my mother thinks I wear black because I used to slit my wrists.
Because of my tattoos that whisper of their memories while I lay in bed counting the stars I can't see.
So I start counting the stars I see in my head.
So I started taking drugs that made me see them instead.
I am an insomniac because I want to sleep but only when I remember the reasons why I can't.

Revealing each other slowly
A saga which has no end or beginning
Slow passion fuels the yearning
Unhurried, we reach a crescendo
And brings with it a new beginning
As we do not possess, yet we are inseparable
We are in the world of unhurried Love

I miss you
God, how I miss you
I've never missed anyone the way that
I miss you
Right now
Why can't you be here?
And I don't want to miss you
I know
There's no hope in yesterday
But only in tomorrow
Hope that you'll return
How naive of me to think you'll return
I know
It's just
I miss you
Its hard
Being without you, living without you
Anything without you
Is pain
Because part of me knows
You don't miss me
You're not writing poems describing just how bad
You miss me
But yet I still can't stop
Missing you
I guess after all that we've been through
I'm allowed to miss you
Sorry to be a bother
I just
Miss you