I wish I could fling the door open
so you'll see the window
I told you about.

We could watch the street posts and tree sparrows on cable wires extending to the horizon of watercolor skyscapes
from there.

But I'm concerned of what
you would think when you'll
also see the vase and
a dead tuscan sunflower
I've plucked sometime
in a long-ago summer.
Don't worry I am not a creep.
I can even make you
some paper orchids
if you like.
I might put one on your ear
if it's fine. Just
give me some time.

Don't mind those
tattered jeans and floral socks
stenched of petrichor
and scattered like autumn leaves
all over the floor.
That's how I've been. Just
give me some time
to clean.

But then that is why
I'm all afraid
you might dislike me
for I've built up lies
and messy secrets
to hide a past
and all.
There wasn't even
a single window
on that wall.

You might not understand
I'm like a lichen-blotched tree
inside a lake of jade.
More like a
dead tuscan sunflower
inside a vase. If so
you don't have to
stay longer in my shades.
But don't just leave me
like a summer
in a while.

You might not understand
why I live
in a house of no windows.
But maybe you won't open the door.

luminous, like an incandescent
star, you fell into my life,

unwrapping me like gift paper,
wearing my fabrics like those

boyfriend jeans you liked
me to put on.

i melted like ice in
the liquids of your voice,

tore open the love letter
you wrote on my heart

and collapsed, an exquisite
and beautiful rose, with the

longing in your eyes, tender
and delicious, every sense

awakened, every joy believed.

fickle winds
spread across him
with all the strength
of a dying breath

it swallowed him
nearly toppled him

stole from him
whispers, sweet nothings
simply bereft.



it was lifeless a sigh
that was her battlecry
like the once flapped
wings of a butterfly

and so they flutter
and they so try

harken
a heart's sweet
sweet hound

the mutiny to cry.

once, had she
silenced him
and never again—

a whirlwind
a heartbeat
and a teardropped
inkstain...

finger painted
across his chest
lock and key
to way back when—

and a life that's stolen
killed a ghost just
about to begin
still. soulless. slain.

a wreck before
he even rode the train.


feeble breeze,
a warm air
reached his ear

like crashing waves
against a lowly boat

he knew the vastness of the ocean
that anywhere else he'd be in the clear
yet no matter how hard he'd try
away, he just couldn't steer—

I was normal
until the story of love
thoroughly confused me.

So now I have to chose
from a selection of hopes-
none of them attractive.

I can let the dogs dissect
my limbs, so my new body
can heal you all,

but then my weariness
will not be curable
even by eternal sleep.

If nothing else, I've learned this.

          The only words to fear
          are the deathless words.
          Keep them out of touch,

          but not out of sight
          as the gazelles glance and
          bounce round the lion.