There should be no eyes
That could travel with you, these eyes,
     Having seen home in your eyes,
Brows, your doubled moon, pronating,
Both getting a massage, and lips,
Naked like soft fruits, as I think
     Of my islanded country,
Of getting one more
For you. Hands, not
Wanting to let go of your hand,
Its creases, portending love
Or not. And there's so much
Treasure like your chest,
     Undiscovered.

I have been told of them, all of them,
Yet, to have been blessed
     To experience things first hand,
Is a thing of forever. Your heart
Steady things which I couldn't,
This gaze, the lightest mood,
     A ballpoint pen,
Not to mention your laughter,
Unbridled, and free, as I could only
Describe them like the hunger
Or a craving for pandesal,
     This bread of my youth.

You, the thought of you,
Immensity,
Too much, too deep,
Though you only reached me,
     Like a lost pup.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Each time we kiss...

Each time we kiss, and selves
Are not selves, and the
Pie is warm, and the
Shake is cold, and the
Toes are arched, and
Pain is love, the Earth
Suckles at the Universe.

Each time we kiss...

Each time we kiss, and the
Doors are partly closed, and the
Penguins mate, and the
Blankets unfold, and a
Star shoots star, and Time
Is waltz, the Earth
Suckles at the Universe.
Hard.

Perhaps, each time...
...we kiss.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

The cream...
...of the crap.*

© 2011 J.S.P.

Blue shadows,
Risen from my heart,
     Set to find you.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

''We should not speak
In turns.'', she said.
''Kiss me.''*

© 2014 J.S.P.

Pealing,
Poking,
Patrolling...
...Her...
...with eyes...

...like a busy snail.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

She is the most attentive person
That I know. So I am winking
At her.

I do not really know
Which star at night
Reminded me of her
Just like before.
Sirius, Rigel, Vega, Aldebaran--
I do not recall a star that--
That does not look back,
She cannot see me anymore,
Just looking, staring at her,
This way. God,
She's so beautiful.

She is the harpist of my life.
She feels more than ever.
She longs for shapes, sizes, and textures.
What a cute baby...
Her hand is fond
Of my hand, memorizing
The intricate lines and features,
Telling my future.
You can tell what she really is.
She smiles despite of.

She is literally wind, monsoon,
Literal dark and light,
A soul, a window.
She is literally blind.
She is literally love.

She is the most attentive love
That I know.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

Explore the outer space,
Like poets
     Are not yet there.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Pretty color, pretty smile,
I hear your loudest cry
     Inside.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Get me a dictionary.
Poetry
     Is sorcery to me
          Sometimes.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I bottle dandelions, silly-saving them up,
Fearing they will never reach your shores,
The blue island, the rose
Of your lost hope, as I see to it
That you know, understand,
With the subtlest implications,
That the bouquet of my love, your love,
Misses you back.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Don't raise those antlers, deer.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Life is short, and to think of you,
Long and mad, is to long the longing
     Of long bond papers, stretched,
Untouched and unmolested,
An ice rink awaiting
     Its solitary soul.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

It was her first frolic,
Raw, non-prolific, she has eyes
On the ceiling, staring at her, her feet,
     Bare, tiptoe with the wind outside, yet
Her brittle body aches, as though
     To embrace the hardest pillow,
A realization, a brand, a scar, a grand
     Turbulence, somewhere
On the inside, the fury
Of a soft rose, it's first opening,
     Too early for the spring, bitter,

          At the applause of one.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Kissed that ****...
...pointing...
...finger.

© 2014 J.S.P.

For your eyes only, I am all eyes only,
Starving myself off, courting you
     With fewer blinks.

Now, let us be silly, dear,
Blush. I want this warmth.
I’ve had enough of our elbows
     Always meeting, always kissing.

Let us talk, converse,
For once, in silence.
Look at me.
     Just look.

I am intrigued now
     More than ever.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I look deeply at you.
I look at you deeply.
I touch the comet tails.
I witness Arided, Asmidiske
And the blessed Sun of Joshua.
I peel the galaxy off of stars.
I hear the lyric and the moon.
I feel the musings of your heart.
I light the crescents on your chest.
I harbor wolves from the snow.
I write like Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto.
And I become distant, a sigh, a spirit.
I look at you deeply.
I look deeply at you.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Know, I will hug you,
Though you cross those arms.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

My love is a tower, a stone,
Cold stunner, here,
     I can see you, notice you,
As my sad arms long
     To carry you.

I like your blush at midday
Which are blossoming aptenias,
     Or female flame of poppies.
It does not matter if your friend would giggle,
     But how I long to carry you.

I am a dreamer and my love
Is a tower, the city tower,
     I despair oftentimes for I cannot go with you.
My feet are nowhere near your feet,
Your front door is the closest
That they can get to, as I would
     Slow down near the open window,
A long streak of line,
Of contrast, of vagueness,
     Or disintegrating light.

A dark sail comes in the afternoon
     To take the sunset away,
And how I wanted you like
     Its hunted filament,
Having it in my hand,
     Only that, even just that.

You are no princess
And my love is a tower,
     I think it is quite clear.
I harbor the giant gears
Like a burden, the haunting histories,
My torn being, the dragons
     Of a dying rose.

See, my heart is a tower,
Ever old and ever new,
     And it has lost you.
The song of night hurries itself into being,
     It is not satisfied that I am lonely,
It despairs along with the artistry,
The architecture, the scenery, the cooing
     Of an exhausted bird.

For in this night, and
In any given night, I belong
     Among these millions.
I have a giant tower, and
     I am never low enough.
My soul, blue, bows
     Like stooping water.
The hopeless stars look at you,
Vindemiatrix, Ain, Acamar,
And it is you, solely, that
     We ever want to reach.

The deep night starts to sing to me,
     In lights and memories,
But there is nothing like your voice,
Voicing out the echoes
     On my lips.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

The precise vagueness
From tongue
     To word
          To skin.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

O Mirage, the prodigal,
Your shadow sisters are
     His favorite.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

If we will be together, like
Together Together, she said,
How do you intend
To propose for marriage?

Well, I don't know, he said.
But I cannot be, desolately be
With a woman who chooses
Romance over mystery.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

I got caught up in poetry,
     Her eyes, her hazel, are poetry,
Hair, swaying smoothly, this artistry,
Cinematography, languidly left me
With purpose, the tussle
     Of a clumsy serenade.

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

Cruel is a day so calm without her,
You would wish for clouds
To be the serpents, envenoming your heart,
     Your infallible heart.

Her soul, surreal, is poetry,
     Hyperbole, that she got me singing,
Covering that Bic Runga hit,
Over and over, lulling the sun
     To its blue blanket, to sleep
          One afternoon.

And yes, I miss her,
     Clear as a sentence well put,
A ballad, aching with me, the longing
Of a five-minute song, yet
There is no fear in love,
     I convince myself,

          Love is patient
               Before it is kind.*

© 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.

Do not lead this finger...
...to your tongue.

It...excites.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

Her whisper drew spirals in my mind,
On my pelvis.
She was a cunning...
...hurricane.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

We are the grey area;
We write for our space.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

Each time you lower
The kisses of life,
You buoy all azure
That there is—
Frantic oceans,
Berries, roses,
Temperamental waters—
Ceaseless savages raptured
Into hissed fragile vapors
Loosing all memory
Of aquatic salt,
Of sad currents,
Of mischievous chlorine,
Looping all ancient time
Accumulated
Into unified forever.

Nothing is as majestic
As the great grand blue-ling
Looted of soul, soul, souls,
It willingly divides, other
Than this, than an epic budding
Of fated love.
There’s nothing as majestic
As we fearfully are.

The torrid torrent
Of quickening
You breathed for me
Has galloped as a white mare
In all lifetimes, salvaging
Our spirits altogether
From the fickle surfs
Of the seas.

Dear, we are puzzling
Archipelagos,
And you submerged us
To a deeper sky
     Of Love.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

There they fall—
In a line— ordering
Some greasy stuff.

And here I wait—
Table 6— falling further...
...in love.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Of all the many that had fallen
From and to the love-bed of love,
     He was the one to take her heaven,
The white-winged monster
Under sheets, her blankets,
     Devouring dreams
          Between her legs.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

If we can finally hear ourselves,
Because we like to talk, would we be
Asking questions or give answers?

I know I've been asked like this before.
And I fear for the answer I might say.

For we listen to the movement,
The current, not water, not time,
Not ever, yet we respond
     Like a ripple.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

This poem is open grave,
A closing sky,
     The oblivion.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

''But beds...
...are not really for the tired.'',
she said.

© 2014 J.S.P.

The moan of water
As she plunged
     Her righteous artistry.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

This blue train of thought
Would not halt for her.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

The known world will destroy
Itself with absurd propensities.
Our past will start to hurt, just as
     Our imaginations would.

Soon we will act like dogs,
And you know the old, old trick,
Dog eats dog,
     Then eats men.

Your beauty will reave me of words,
And words, dream. My silence
Will deceive. I will pilfer through
The works of those before me--
     The timeless liars,

Then my mind will front my heart
To mask itself, and these poems,
Easily, will fall to the category
     Of deft pretentiousness,

And yet I love you, I love you,
It is the sole truth
     I did not think of.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Believing Everything...
...is Knowing Lying.

© 2014 J.S.P.

Our love had no bite,
But it was...
...all...
...tongue.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

A lifetime, to answer,
     Which is bigger,
          Fate
          Or Hope?*

© 2015 J.S.P.

My words are empty.
They are once filled...
...within me.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

Gladly, surrendering,
     Stiff and still,
Lying, in this night of nights
Burning so proudly in my being,
     This righteous scald,
A firebird pecking, dismantling,
     Piecing into ecstasies and art
My cold, cold heart,
For you are here, near, tickling
Caressing    
     My unassuming hip...

          ...with your eyebrows.*

© 2015 J.S.P.