All trees
dressed in pink
the longings
that were planted here
over the years
I've been faithful
in my visits
approaching gently
quietly leaving
pink and white petals
like devoted butterflies
flapping their wings
to decorate that sky
of memory
beautiful things of the mortal world
finally return
the season of sakura
like my thoughts fluttering about
in the first flush of her romance
the sanctity of this retreat
the pink flames
reflected on lovers' foreheads
fragrances
stored in the depths of time
fly out towards
our love affair.

A place of silence
the bed of an exhausted runlet
parched and windless
it can make us remember
the part when we touched
some of us used it as a mirror once
saw in its rippling
the shimmering scales
of fleshed out time
it seemed real
it's frightening to realize it's real
we can recall when the never-ending flow
is exhilarating
alive
unlike other mysterious phenomena
now everything seems irretrievable
though we can still vaguely
hear its voice
in our lives
everyone carries with them
a streamlet
but we never want to be clear
about the existence
and future of the stream bed.

Live your life
though it's not an easy thing to do
especially for those who are not born with inheritances
every step of the way is rampant with imbalances
it's also because the world is riddled with contrived rules
everywhere it's still primeval law of the jungle
sometimes we're not strong enough
but at all times we need to think for ourselves
protecting ourselves is the only way
making it possible for us
to live a life
many choose to conform to the practices of the society
some choose to stay true to their humanity
the two choices often find themselves in conflict
not saying there's no reconciliations
staying true to yourself
is not preordained to be a confrontation to the world
sometimes it can be more of an integration
because when you know yourself
you become tolerant of the world
because the more you love yourself
you have to learn to love the world
and slowly you'll be able to live out
your own life
the process is never easy
but it's the only way to understanding life
to loving it most of the time.

Watering the plants
is not a meaningless task
crumbs of green in their pots
growing as they please
random yet adamant
i'm a little tired in this
early summer evening
on this 18th floor balcony
they have become my scenery
perhaps not willingly
but i feel natural and fulfilled
the goldenrod
the boat orchids
the spearmint
periwinkle and lantana
i fill a plastic container with water
slowly i imbue it into the
gradually darkening dusk
earlier i was reading some blogs
with lofi music playing on my phone
fresh and fluent
the mood is like opening a door
then another door
the plants enjoy the melody now in stillness
they make no further comments.

Needless to say
my heart is sometimes a jungle
a wilderness
there are many little
monsters that stalk the landscape
sometimes they behave like a ginger fawn in the headlights
sometimes like a lone wolf with blue stripes
sometimes they wriggle like anthias fish
sometimes sleep like a serpent
i have no way to confine them
nor can i bear to
they too
need care and comfort
when they're hungry they need me to feed them
if i don't see them for days
have they forsaken
left me behind
i just have to ask
as if they never existed
i'm always so focused on the deities and gods
little monsters also need to be nourished by love
when they feel the warmth love thawed and molten
they become more innocuous, pure and lovelier
than humans or immortals
this brought me to a realization
so called monsters or savages is just
a lack of affection
and the harm caused by limitations
the harm which is invisible at the root
it stems from established prejudices, discrimination, contempt
which more often than not
they are unintentional oversights, misunderstandings and ignorance
why do i love so hard
maybe because there are still too many little monsters
in my digital world.

The height of summer
days become the hot embracing
during
passionate love making
it's hard to breathe
torso behaves like pancake
tossing and turning on the mattress
body is a fire spitting dragon
roasting every corner of the bed
or the grill if you will
mosquitoes are lions on the savanna
lying in wait by the river
so many spots to start
cravings dragged toward the abyss
to drink in the sweetened coolness
birds in the tree
screaming from the heat
leaves curled up and blinded in fear
the earth is a fresh bun in the steamer
flowers faint left and right
amidst smell of charring
the sun laughs loudly
sending chills down some spines
when i see a lake i wanna dive in
i don't care about the gossip
or the hazard at the deepest
I'm a cheater that's been cheating
beyond the worldly paradigm
tears of rain are swirling in the sky
the winds hide on the other side
everyone in torment
expecting
plenty of sweating and swearing
all kinds of fans waving and spinning.

I never lack an audience
even if it's just one person
i have
the cranium of poetry
humbly poised to be placed high
nirvana in a verse
is not to be flaunted
just like the distant incident of snow
remains far and illusive
only the wind knows
the interstice between the heaven and the ocean
the interstices amidst the words
only time knows
i never lack an audience
even if all the readers
who have come from all bearings
have gone
well, i knew that sooner or later
they will leave too
i just hope that when they do
they don't forget it all like a hangover
that'd be a cinch
i never need an audience
time is always by my side
the one true
underwriter.