My desert flower
who rests on a bed of sand
Softer than silk
and finer than stardust,
emerging like an oasis
In an endless wasteland
that is my own.

Bloom under the silvery moonlight!
Bloom when I am there
Bloom when I am not
Bloom until our world collides with the stars.

Your immutable beauty,
Endless.
Wondering what your name shall be.

At midnight, the microwave reads "00:01"
And the sound it emits displaces roaches in the cupboards.
The sound of a distant freeway, running with traffic,
Like the blood which flows through my veins, constant.

Neon lights buzz in the background,
And a moth floats, attracted to the light,
Which flutters until it dies, and its final resting place is the window sill,
Near a dying tomato plant whose soil is littered with ashes,
From late night smoking sessions as I stare at the street below.

Pedestrians are silhouettes stalking the streets at night.
And when they pass under a light, you're surprised to see:
The student, the migrant worker, and the mother of four,
disengaging from the hourly buses which run at this hour.  

The microwave reads "00:00," and its beep alerts of the meal,
Mostly frozen peas and potatoes, but the meat is warm,
And the plastic film poked with holes slowly fills the apartment,
With some sign of life and comfort.

I love building bridges just to watch them burn,
Until no trace is left.
And what was there is just a figment.
An apparition of the past that I forwent,
But you admire because We - I am no more.
Your image reflected upon the river is restless.
You. Removed, carried by the current.
Are no more.

Death by water. An homage to asphyxiation.
It is funny how a thing of beauty can leave such a horrible scar.
Redundancy. I grow my roses in a fish tank and when they bloom I submerge them in water.

Out of the gutters running with tears,
Of the mother whose child’s blood
Clogs the storm drain, Grows —

A flower of carnage eating the iron.
It is a thing of beauty.
Red as a rose, but deadlier; reminiscent of Rouge —

Lascivious lips that create Lust.
Il es mort. C’est L’amour.
I was dead the moment I met you.

I present you with the thing of beauty.
A bouquet of flowers I pulled from the streets.
'I'll get the vase.'

Have we upset this chance at true love
Exhausted our emotions, experiencing so much loss
A feeling entrenched, eternal self loathing
With no signs of escape, or reversion
An endless cycle of misfortune

Take the chance and chase desires
Until we venture through frontiers,
Leaving gardens of earthly flowers
For in the darkest light
Our souls can still find flight
Let us gaze upon celestial spheres

We are just circling in an endless odyssey
of emotions
Until we find our reason
For true devotions.