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Jeffrey Pua Jan 2017
I want to be what I should be
In the context of consistency,
Your early morning ritual, the coffee
And the egg that you would like me to be,
     A habit you can never get rid of,
A certain pose for the cameras,
A certain post on Instagram, the way,
Exquisite, unique, and endearing
That your mouth motions, your lips lead,
Your cheeks cast the skip-a-beat
     Magic of your smile to my heart.

Dearest PVC, I want to learn cardiology.
I want to be the Michael Faudet
For your Lang Leav soul.
I want to move a japanese mountain,
Then be a sushi or a truffle, yes,
     I even want to be a truffle.

     And I just want to court you... always...
          ...and after always.*

© 2017 J.S.P.
Jeffrey Pua Jan 2017
As soon as I have left, I have returned,
Such is my fate, as though
A sudden wave recedes
From the shore, the nomadic wind
Brushing your shy cheeks by,
Lifting your hair, glorious,
     In a captivating moment.

No shadow, nor faint light,
Could ever walk with me
Like you do, always. I will roam the Earth
And will not lose you, for a part of you
Is etched, scratched, on melancholic fibers
This heart has. You are,
But a far-off thing I see
     In sleepless nights.

I have limited my words among the crowd.
     I have limited my self
To an “I love you”, day by day, intending
To say it right there and then,
On that soft cloud you are sleeping on,
     Snow angel.

My mouth is not satisfied
From our last kiss, for your laugh
Is for my lips, your lips are,
     Your silence.

I have limited my steps into an island.
     I could never stray from you,
Though you tend to stray from me,
Little by little, word after word,
     Look after look, blink
          After blink,

Pardon me, if I see to it,
That you sit gracefully,
     That I see to it that you are simple
As a white rose, that I deeply feel
That your heart, dear, is across from mine,
That I see to it that my feet
Are across from yours, even that,
     Even just that.

Forgive me,
If I have limited my self
Into a question
     For you to answer.*

© 2017 J.S.P.
Jeffrey Pua Jan 2017
I would draw a curve like those
Of a fishing boat, its bottom,
Or the body of the moon sometimes
     In its perfect time
          And begin to dream.

And google things like,
"a small depression in the flesh,
Either one that exists permanently
Or one that forms in the cheeks
When one smiles",
     And then write poetry,
          Subpar to the actual thing.

You don't know the magic that you are.

Through your smile,
I learned to cheat all death, all life,
All me, all being, all being,
     All what-ifs and trying-to-be-s.
Through your smile, I knew,
     That God is good, has been
          And always will be.

Through you, I knew,
     I have always been happy.*

© 2017 J.S.P.
Jeffrey Pua Jan 2017
We are talking about years,
Endeavors, dreams, moments.
A day has enough problems on its own,
     And you are stronger than
          You will ever think you are.

These scars, these ceremonial
Scars you bear, imprints
Eternally embedded,
     Proudly present to you
          The true challenge of the heart.

2017, in the cold, calm winter, Germany,
January, prematurely, you will open
What you fought so hard for just to close
     In hope of letting some healing in
          And fiercely love again.

You will make space, bridges,
Towers, arrange your stars,
Set your cardboard, pick wild flowers,
Eat one cup of rice instead of two,
Do some sit-ups, and let yourself wait
     And wait and wait
          For her to get here.

Here, in the middle,
In the very scar you reopen.

Happy New Year.*

© 2017 J.S.P.
Jeffrey Pua Oct 2016
True lions ruling their pride.*

© 2016 J.S.P.
Jeffrey Pua Jul 2016
There is Venus' Bow
And Apollo's Arrow
In this love.
No cupid.
No fate.*

© 2016 J.S.P.
Jeffrey Pua Jul 2016
When you make love to me, you unbutton
     The black jeans of the universe,
You discover worlds, paths, stars,
Dwarves and giants, the viciousness
     Of a blackhole, a machine,
          Swallowing everything.
Yes, you make love to me,
As though to pour milk on the full moon,
     You turn q into d, my love,
          A crochet to a demisemiquaver,
And you make rhapsodies and raptures,
     And records, as I make them envy,
          All the suns.*

© 2016 J.S.P.
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