A tale of love.
Begins with a stolen kiss.
From you. Sheer delight.
Quivered on my lips.
Painted my world
in hues of indefinable bliss.

I love this moment.
So involved.
With you.
Under the blanket of love.
You moved.
Like dancing milkyways
that caught me
--- craving more touch
with timeless gentleness;
begging for another kiss
that stole my breath
and put my mind
out of everything
but your grace.

the moon and beauty, and the night where it meets reminds me of december ~ of those from the distant past, which somehow made me feel like there was no lonely man before and after me.

tonight, there's the moon and beauty again, and the self who stopped dwelling on those december's. the self who knew and felt that somehow, expectations of what is grand finally correlates with reality.

tonight, just like any other nights, there's the moon. there's remembering about the process of forgetting. there's the feeling of existing and co-existing. there is actually much. you, me, and the skyway and the tollgates, and all the things that the moon hasn't refused to shine on every night.

This is to divert the current feeling to that which chases the wind-blown dandelions. This is something which reminds you that the world lives in uncolorful things, too.

This is not to write and be Pablo Neruda. This is not to love and be Romeo. Or Juliet.

This is to be like something that perennially changes.

This is to divert and re-divert. Be displaced or disengaged.

This is to end a line in a way it should not be ~ like a hanging phrase that really isn't.

Yes, this is.

woke up with bursting brightness in my bed. like summer days coming earliest on a chilly February morning. if i would have you and that 'good-morning' smile in my bed every waking moment like today's, then every time will be continual forms of joy or seventh heaven. longing to be, and be nothing but myself --- myself, that is lying next to you, returning your smile and holding your face. where holding you would always feel like i'm holding everything that is beautiful in this changing sphere. And every time i touch you, i'd stare right through your soul and i'd quietly ask, "who, in this sea of lovers, desired each other as we do?"

each memory i remember
brings me closer to where i am.
every memory, a ticket to those days
i sat beside you in your backyard.
sharing thoughts and laughter 'til the sun's fading.
where i am now is lost.
a place half-lighted by an almost broken lamp post.
where i am now is a free space.
where i can be drunk and float and fall down like a dead leaf.
where are you now?
i cant see you into the moon's eyes.
you have to come back.
to sing our silly songs.
to search for a new space.
like a field of green grass.
where we can sit and laugh,
float and never fall down.

The rain has stopped.
But the earth barely breathes through.
For the soils are soaked
And the air, set deep into the surface.
Deep down.
Deep into the pulp of the furrow.
Where the shadows act.
As if proximity to the sun exists in different angles.
Infinitesimal at the outset.
Immeasurable at the end of the day.
This place is a repository of waning things.
Where I am part of every station and stop.
But all these to me are irrelevant.
For I am willing to well up sunlight
Even when darkness is most unforgiving.