in a parallel universe
you never broke me
and you still speak of me
with love on your tongue

in a parallel universe
your eyes still drip with desire
begging for me to come closer
rather than never even looking my way

in a parallel universe
you still love me
as much
as i still love you

in a parallel universe
is where my heart lives
and maybe that's why i'm not over you
because in some world i still hold your heart

and in all worlds you still hold mine

s.s

The prettiest colours of the sky are in the morning between five and six.

The prettiest colours are on my cheeks when you touch my lips.

Keep on touching and paint all of me because I'm a blanc canvas and I dont want to be.

This is the message I want to send to you

I haven't met you

but I know I will soon.

In this tightly interwoven
tapestry of
           silks and cottons
softness upon stems
an intricately-*****
                     journey
manifesto of life
        I find myself in
patchwork landscapes
of ochre and
rust turning
           turquoise
earthern shades
of cumin and cardamom
cloves and coriander
piquant red of paprika
alighting the senses
My fingers reach out
to sift the powder
to crush
fragrant fronds
of fresh basil and oregano
upon the blueprint of tips
allow their scent
to permeate my skin
and infuse tissue
                of tongue and lips
and I seem to be
in this
           bustling marketplace
my blood afire like
dried ghost pepper
searing and brightening
all flavors
fenugreek and asafoetida
to soothe the ache
of emptiness
chervil and chive
to get juices flowing
I want to slit open
vanilla pods
get at the beans
revel in their essence
wear it all over me


In this realm of spice
and paradise
I am flying,
a magic carpet of dreams
unrolling before me
like an unfurled flag
of new existence
The sounds of hagglers,
fading in raw visons
of shiny apple colors
olives piled high
textures of smooth cherry
budded broccoli
of walnut wrinkles
aroma of guava

Music takes over
I am in a cloud of
oud and lute
syncopated tabla
bells and rumbling
taut skin drum beats
Or is that long low whir
simply my heart purring
to the cadence of
       freedom's call?

I only know
that in the whisk
of a second's split
I will savor the flight
and also the
                fall

it's hard to be in love with a girl made of porcelain.

she's there; so angelic, so soft, so fragile.

you want to touch her.
it's easy to promise she won't break,
hard to follow through on it.

but the problem,
believe it or not,
is not the breaking her.

it's that when you break her,
you pick her back up and put all of those tiny pieces together.
you look down at your hands, and there she is.
tiny pieces of her embedded in your skin.
it's going to be hard to get her out.

it's hard to be in love with a girl made of porcelain.
but it's even harder to be reminded of the love lost
and the damage done
when you look down at the small scars
covering your palms.

Or maybe I'm just desperate to talk to someone.
Hold someone's hand.
Chill beside with.
And maybe plan a future with.

Perhaps the problem is really me.
Going after moments and not thinking of the future.
Giving my all and holding nothing back.
Zoning in on this thing and forgetting reality.