For my best friend, Naomi

like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you came to me
gently,
with the soothing voice
of a sweaty spring
thank you, old friend
for being able to be
dark enough to see
the hidden light
in me

i will not go into the times we shared
asphyxia and summer air
juxtaposed to form
an inseparable pair

who am I, old friend
when the ship´s horn blares
if you made me who I am
(if you made me scarce)

like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you left me
softly, without
any warning of
the lack of color
(there would be)
without your splendor

a premature
or christ-like
nostalgia
for the mirror
surrounded
by the nothing
I feel

With Poe-try you can surely
get your Words' worth
So many words are waiting
like a Wolfe at your door,
for their Cummings into being.

If you listen, they Pound
upon your brain
They Lamb-aste your viscera,
making you Nash your teeth.
They create a Millay in your head.
So many shapes, so many Hughes

Lusting for Moore they Lear
at you when you least expect.
Look back at them!

Like Frost upon the windowpane
they write themselves,
then, when all is said and Donne
melt away too soon.

Grasp them when you can.
Put them in a Rowe
Taylor them to your muse,
use your Whit, man !

i love how ridiculous we are.
i love how when our eyes meet, it's not a staring contest but to see who'll pull away first.
the blush that grows on your cheeks is in clusters.
you let me hold your hand.
i love how ridiculous we are.
wine glasses filled with apple juice,
strawberries,
little sandwiches that i'll be too nervous to eat but i would for you.
i would eat for you.
i love how ridiculous we are.

My words bunch up in my throat.
I want to comfort people with my words, sweet as honey,
But they're too thick to come out.
I finally get them out, but they're weak and useless.
How do I get them out?

My touch falters.
I try to reach out and help with a gentle touch,
But it lands awkward and uncomfortable,
People edge away not wanting to be touched by me.
How do I fix my touch?

My eyes betray.
I try to tell stories through my eyes,
To spare people my words, that stick like honey,
I look to try and keep my poisoned hands away from them,
But all they display is hurt and sadness.
How do light them?

My writing helps.
I write down all the thoughts that stick like honey.
I try to touch the reader's heart with my words.
I hide behind a screen so they don't have to see my eyes filled with sadness.
How do I do this without a screen and keyboard?

I listen the sound of the waves,
booming quietly like a lullaby,
With a pleasing summer zephyr levitating across the graves.

I witness the water dancing against the golden sand,
And it’s each drop laughing with their mouths wide open
Making the sea gulls cry, as if in a band.

I hear the sound of the butterflies fluttering,
Across the loose trees
Talking of despondency, contentment and of course,
the beauty of the waves crashing.

I smell your scent, looking towards my right to see you,
Seeking pleasure in those pathless woods
Walking hand in hand,
And exploring the breeze
Beneath those rhapsodic trees.
-Khushi :’)