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ji Jun 2016
I want to be the cigarette
   between your lips,
   to when you would always decide
   whether to light me,
   take in my smoke,
   and let me singe scathingly your lungs,
   as you stare on my embers,
   entranced on my flicker,
   watching me dwindle
   with the haze growing
   more drunk of the evening dank;

Or keep me cold
   and suffer the grim hankering
   for my tepid nicotine
   to be your oxygen;
   for the comforting reek I leave on your collar;
   the bitter aftertaste, in your mouth.

And then rustle in sobs to the placid moon,
   "Let him **** me;
   He is all I want."
ji Jun 2016
I die a death no one could resurrect me from
No dust could rot my body to dust
No grave stone could ever give me no honor
Nor flowers could perfume nor grass could embellish.

I die a death of all the dying and the decaying
Of all the woes of the living;
And when they excavate my bones of words
From my sepulcher of our forgotten histories
They'll only find two things:
Your words I etched on the underside of my nails,
   and your name chafed deep on the inside of my lips--
I will wail--
The soil of the Earth will first hear it,
Then the echoes would spiral up the roots of every tree
And they too will die of my misery,
That I have been dead yet dying still
Since the day you abandoned me lonely.

My own burial I visit
Days that come after that
Over and over and over and over ---
   and over and over and over

Dead and forever dying,
My heart and its yearning
   for our love--
   and forever dying.
ji Jun 2016
Souls intertwined in cosmic romance
Now forlorn, torn lovers of colossal distance,
Dissevered from the entanglement
their flesh had tasted;                      
Hurled to opposite poles,                
sober from perfervid love--            
now wasted.                

And the one lays off his skin as carpet of welcome
For the other, enchanted on the fibers of another,
Like the strings he strums.

Celestial bodies ****** to eternally savor
the abysmal vastness of space;                      
For they once were intertwined souls          
With eyes that cut through distance's face--
Now dead, floating specks of nothing
but mere lifeless, hurled fibers            
of burnt hearts, hurt lovers--                
upon endless horizons
like remnants of a dead star--
the glittering, prickly left overs.
ji May 2016
Your words of tender, mellow slur
are furls and wisps of thin, streaming clouds;
       dancing ecstatic,
       swaying hypnotic,
       sailing on the somber oceans of the wind--
then nestling as mist
   at the doors of these still lake lips of mine,
   hankering to swallow and wallow the low-resting, quiet, ambrosial fog.
ji May 2016
I wake up in agony, somewhere today, where my hands fail to recognize the creases on your skin. It started abandoning the memory of what it's like to hold you. And as my fingers brush across your palms, its folds are some unfamiliar braille.

Then a streak of your scent pierces sheer through my conscious and reminds my heart. Suddenly, its beats are the rhythm that used to guide our feet to glide in synchrony in our waltz; it guides my steps, little by little, to when and where it all began: that once upon a yesterday, you held me close to your chest and made me listen to the orchestra of your breath-- until I awake and you're humming a different symphony.

It agonizes me, and my eyes that rummage for the love prints I impressed on your lips, that you hum it so merrily.
ji May 2016
Lost souls wandering on the shores of love,
     looking over the shipwreck,
     wanting to cross the waters,
     not wanting to get their feet wet.
The ocean is too icy for their salty tears,
and their eyes of pond too warm for the sweet, inviting waves.

Lost souls wandering on the shores of love,
     dying for a sip to quench their arid hearts,
     wanting to drown,
     not wanting to dive.
The trenches too shallow for their collapsing lungs,
and their breaths too deep for such a shoal sea.

Lost souls wandering on the shores of love,
     wanting to get a taste of the crashing waters,
     choosing to eternal be walkers and gazers
     and lost and trapped on the coarse, sandy shores
     and chafe their soles;
     and remain unfound,
     meandering souls.
ji Apr 2016
is hidden in the lungs of a lover
who lost himself                          
in the war of keeping his love;  
in  his tears yet to stream his cheeks,  
over the carcass of the only dead soldier  
that is his own heart.                                    

And the coldest, most macabre ******
lies between the partition of the lips    
of the one who left-- willingly.    
No good-byes.                                
No apologies.          
Just plain frigid fingers          
that smell like heartbreak.        

This is the epic unwritten in history,
unseen in televised documentaries;
partly because of its gruesome morbidity,  
and partly of its awful simplicity.                
A traceless killing:                                          
no blood,                            
no stains,                            
no weapons,                      
just lies.                              
Seamless all from the start--                        
just one mangled heart.
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