I unzip your back and expected,
Anticipated
No goose, nor bump.
No loose passion, no pause,
Nor hesitation.
No wings. No angel.
But I look into you,
Your flesh, your curves
And respected your tired soul.
I shall move, slow, and consider
The new moon.
I'll only kiss, kiss, kiss,
Breathe and pressure the old weight
And the tension away.
I bare you and I unravel the illusion,
The galleries, the ateliers
Of mysteries
Or the path to a naked star.
I embrace you
Just as an answer
To a query.
We shall be together, a reverie,
Entwined.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Shelter your frailty into the open.
Protect it from your lungs, your soul, your *******,
Your curved bones and apprehensions.
I say release and decompress.
Forsake the dangers in your chest
     And love me.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I will embrace this night and ratify our love,
Expand the Universe.
I shall lather the oldest stars at your body,
     Imagine they were true fruits to be kissed,
          And slither to the tree of your touch.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Sure as the stars are blindfolded
So as to better their listening to our hearts,
     I will make love to you.

I will make love to you.
I shall stitch the shadow of the Sun
     To the sky.

I will make love to you,
     And make you mine.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

The crispy perfection risen
From the quick burn of gold as though
The phoenices of old came back to greet death
With the pale, clear smoke
Or with diaphanous ashes gilding still
The fieriest of feathers and their souls.
Oh how they bleed before the beheading,
But such end, for me, is
Ever favorable, and never ill.
I want an equal passion to receive me,
Where I would be eaten whole, taken
Full and proud, and stripped and naked,
Delicately touched, willingly devoured, consumed
By the mouth of my kisses, of my doing,
And thoroughly tasted
By her need-driven tongue.
I'd give my all. All.
I want that.
And that, I tell you,
Is a **** death.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

pouting of the lips
to the wind to the bottle
to the moonplum of this sky
     then back
          because you miss me.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

There were two snow globes in two glass houses,
Two ballet dancers in a studio,
Two butterflies that have gone back to the chrysalises,
And two wishes coming true,
    As her soul, gradually, peers through.
And I tell her,
It is a Universe outside as it is within.
I lead her eyes to a close
     With a kiss.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

A boastful poet sees a baby
     In a high chair.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I do not intend to withdraw and abstain,
And succumb to the pitiful state of complacency,
What I never own, I decided,
I must bestow, freely,
     Unto you.
I shall not shy an ounce of energy away
From its full-blown capacities or capabilities
     Of grand intensities.
If I have to stay, then I shall stay,
And stay with you, driven by infinities.
     There is no other way.
I shall not ebb and flow
To this limiting experience,
This dire existence. I shall love
     And love you bravely, purely.
This is my course, my dictum, my curse:
Each star is love and the threshold
     Is the Universe.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

So there's a thin line
     between confidence and arrogance...*

          Humility.

© 2015 J.S.P.

The textures of a star as with her flesh
Are not those that seep nor soften
That they grace the hands divine
With the airiest of moistures or the fluidity
Of fire. It is far from that.

All smoothness that I know I felt
And are all too palpable.
Now I abstain from such,
     From such nakedness.

Not the papaya, the apples, the grapes of La Union,
Nor the watermelon kind of touch
But of the moon attenuated, the pierce
Of the narrow light or the folding abaniko,
Could unravel me towards the discovery
Of wild fragilities, little by little, all too tender,
With its river, and its regions forbidden
     And its sections.

I circumnavigate my passions
Towards hers.
     I shiver.

I have yet to measure a feather,
Her waist,
     With my lips.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I own a library of thoughts in my eyes
     With your eyes alone.
There is no other way to know you,
But to compile and compress it deep
     Within my heart,
To flourish inwardly, to perish,
And to strive for
The academic excellence of greater love
And be the scholarly fool
     Of your divine complexities.

What can I say? I love your Astronomies,
Philosophies and Geographies. I love you
To the fact, to the fiction and back,
To the histories and the mysteries.
I can't unstudy your laughter.
     I am ignorant to your full allure.

Love, I only love you, your pretty eyes,
Because they close and reopen,
     Capture and imagine,
They wander and they wonder,
     And such is the way of life.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I have never seen such sad confetti,
A burst of melancholia, no hint of pain,
A drizzle, an arrow to the soul.
     What tragedy!

At night, alone, looking
At Afremov's First Snow,
I grin. I smirk it hard
And the forced laughter comes.
I imagine what hers would sound like,
     And colors, extravagant colors.
It makes me wonder when we'll be foolish together.
What smile would color me
     And color it back?

Below her nostrils,
Below her air, her breath,
The smoke, her oxygen,
Are my mouth, her mouth,
Her lips and some more breath—
All too tangible—
     A machinery.

But there's some spirit there, I know,
A kiss that need not press on,
A smaller infinity, a found virginity.
And the light would shed its dark elsewhere
     Revealing her shadow, her true.

I know there would be love, love,
Somehow, for her,
     In her.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

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.

I got caught up in poetry.
Her eyes, her hazel, are poetry.
Her hair, swaying,
Languidly left me
With purpose,
The tussle
Of a clumsy
Serenade.

Since she left,
The guitar strings
Echo her questioning.
They move
As though
To flicker back
To her eyelids,
To sway a feeling
Back to hope,
To dreams,
Coming back
To me.

Cruel is a day
So calm
     Without her.

Her soul is poetry.
She got me singing,
Covering
That Bic Runga song
Over and over,
Lulling the sun
To a blue blanket,
To sleep
One afternoon.

Yes, I miss her,
Clear as a sentence
Simply put,
     A ballad.

But there is no fear
     In love.
          I convince myself.

Love is patient
     Before it is kind.*

© 2015 J.S.P.