If love's really blind,
     I hope the cupid won't miss.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

You are feathered butterfly
Armed with mimosas,
Perfumed to perfection,
Dressed delicately, purely, with only
The most diaphanous of colours,
Of your simplistic silhouettes
And your ever-glow, the peppery yellow,
And gold, and emerald and silver.
You govern my little empire.

I come like a deer bowed before you
In integrity,
For you are royalty,
A gift of nature.
You wear the therapeutic tiara,
The morning of mornings, my rest,
My hope, my sweet.
You are the princess and the panacea,
The kiss I long longed for,
And I'm your squire,
Your only,
Only dreaming.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I could lie, and lie hard, about looking,
And looking hard for the perfect blue,
A certain force of blue that castles
The white sand beaches of the South,
Of the Visayas region, somewhere
In your eyes, beloved, while they only echo
The whisper of that brown coffee blend
You infinitely adore, or that proud tan missing,
Always missing out on a red bikini.
But my heart can't nor simply can't.
There's this something about my lineage
That resonates within me, that my soul, wet,
Would always want to travel back
Like a driftwood drifting back.

I do not demand the burn nor the fire.
I am completely fine in smoke, shadowing you,
Shadowing me and the scars,
Making love, perpendicular,
Out of a night perpetual, and postpone sleep
Over our mutual moon beaming.
There is none left for silence, but us,
Only our lives. (Listen.)

I can't help but love that eloquence,
Your tenderness, a roof
Out of your hands. Your comfort
Is where I rest and wake up to.
Say something, anything, for it speaks,
And is pleasure, a poetic treasure,
A novel or a story. I love the way
You nag. Be candid for me,
And especially for you.

I would enormously love to burst
In a quiet laughter, simply because someone
Made me so with a crafty subtlety,
In me, from the inside out.
I would trade my poems for a woman like that,
Like you, and I would love a kiss,
A kiss for all of that.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

There...
     Somewhere...

Between the flesh
     And the shadow,*

          I am.

© 2015 J.S.P.

I lie here, fresh, pronated,
Sifting through the sheets of my memory
For the strand, a hint, a mark,
A scar
Of her decadent delicacies,
Of urges and celibacies,
Just to quiet me and falter,
And falter hard, mad,
Into the night gentler
Than the lightest of strokes,
     Her touch.

And the moon creeps through my heart tonight—
A chill, a violent chill, still—
An opera, a sonata, an elegy,
A requiem
Just because I fought
     With an angel.*

© 2015 J.S.P.