And then I began to see everything in detail:

Her arm around my neck
her nose buried on my cheek
her breath clinging on my skin
her hand tracing my face
the final trail of her fingers
and her steps pulling back.

The interminable look in her eyes before she sleeps
and her slightly open mouth.
The way she turned away
and the way she ran back to me.
The sound of her footfalls
the weight of her embrace
her pressing lingering scent
and her ******* crushing on my chest.
Her skin devouring my skin
and the time perishing in our hand.

The wave of her hair
the flaunt of its strands
the arch of her shoulders
the sway of her arms
the spaces between her legs
the years between her steps
her last endless glimpse
her back becoming walls
her sheer infinity
and the sound of the stars as it explode
one
by
one.

I stood there watching her warmth slowly disappear.
Because this is what it's like when someone who does not love you any longer
walks away.

Between the pages
I will dig your grave
and bury you.

Your promises will stand
scared and shaking
at the edge of otherness

And I will let them explode like stars
and in that fleeting glimpse
I will capture eternity.

I will force the spine;
seal it with iron-lead
and imprisoned poetry.

Then one day,
I will tear those pages
one by one

and fold its edges
one by one
until they become

a collection of unwanted airplanes
that I will crush on your chest
as we stand face to face.

Your voice on my hair
Your breath on my skin.
The arch of your spine.
The void in your mouth.
The flood on your tongue.

They say it's beautiful,
but it's not.

Forgive me I will not be writing for a while. The butterflies had taken all the envelops and the dungeons badly needed new decorations. Rearranging the stars will not take long.

I will be back.
Hang on.

Crumpled bedsheet.
Solitary pillow.
Brown blanket.
Empty bottles.
Unwashed clothes.
Vacant bed.
The light on the window.
The lighter on the sill.
Disorganized desk.
Weary picture frame.
Capured memory.
Your secret door.
Guitar on the wall.
Take-home souveniers.
Half-opened closet.
Broken shell.
Treasured letters.
Apprehensive footfalls.
Envious looking glass.
Scattered reflections.
Strange languages.
Disoriented voices.
Dissolving names.
Falling promises.
Disappearing bodies.
Reunited hearts.
Interminable glances.
Sheer infinity.

**Because your room is a world where everything,
even pain,
is beautiful.

It's noon
and the heat is inconsolable.
Dust conceals the birds in flight.
Car horns are inescapable.
Traffic seems interminable.
Smoke perches like hatred and blame.
Beggars linger like guilt.
Prostitutes on the subway
embrace hour like a lifeline.
Construction workers battle death for a morsel.
**
As you arched your spine
and pushed back your neck,
the light passes through your window
and illuminated the sweat sprawling restlessly on your chest like hasty scribbles.
In this broken world,
I find your ruffled hair fascinating.

Dear You,

Elope with me on a fine summer day.

We'll ride a random bus and hope to end up somewhere strange and unfamiliar. We will communicate in strange languages; laugh at silent jokes. We will lie under the stars, talk about distant islands and let the night hear our secret happiness and endless regrets. Because we're the vikings and we will never be defeated.

We will reappear under your blanket. We'll turn off the light and make love under the faint glow of the moonlight until the inconsolable heat of the afternoon. We'll flicker like a fire, we'll perch like butterflies. I will hold you the way I hold my pen - you can be certain that even after the last drip of the ink, still I will never let go. In my stories, I pledge to make you immortal.

Because you will never age for me.
Nor fade.
Nor die.


Until we defy immortality,
*Me