Oh god, I hate the silence
I have much more to show you
I haven’t been this dull since
I spoke to those who know you.

When we met, I couldn’t eat
and when we’ve met again, I’d hide
my skinnied body under coats
hoping you’d overlook my dearth

The emptier I got, the more I said
to others, the more my fingers whispered
psalms or songs of trust while lain in bed
my brain scrambled like eggs which I ignored.

Now with you gone, I fill my own mind
with ping-pong conversations, fill the lack
with fluffy pancakes, syrup, morning biscuits
fill the eve with Thai food and my friends,
all while my form rejects this strange nutrition;
to not be empty drives it to sedition.

Existing can bring pain, I must confess;
from diseased innards, torn by obstacles,
to hands that crack and bleed from nothingness,
or senses hurt by minute particles.

And yet there’s power strewn within these limbs;
looks which inspire artworks quite sublime,
spirits almost immune to mortal whims,
tongues that can sell souls or others’ time.

This is the catalogue of human parts.
The price of purchase: absolutely free
and whether you’re dealt threes or kings of hearts
is not determined by you or by me.

For each feature assessed by this self-measure
may be one person’s curse; another’s treasure.

A human goddess on the sand
Stood barely in my sight.
Her gown was made of drumbeats and
Her voice was made of light.

Each ear was a translucent shell
Each eyelid mother-of-pearl;
Her voice a steady tolling bell
By which time’s hands would twirl.

O Goddess with my shape and mind
Your worth unknown to man
How can someone worship your kind
Sans structure or a plan?

As such, the price to build a temple here
Would be to watch the whole world disappear.

Lately I’ve learned to tolerate the rush
Which once flowed with each instance of your name
Reminders of you, now, less often brush
Against my soul or set my nerves aflame.

At times, it can still be unearthed in me
Borne from soft fingers on my wrist; a sigh
Those gestures of yours, light and feathery
With power to stop hearts or clear the sky.

What once was constant will evaporate
From scarlet oceans to soft meadow greens.
Schrödinger’s cat will choose a final state,
And branches brought down by time’s thoughtless streams.

When none is left except my thoughts of you,
Will this be worth what you’ve witnessed me do?

I search at midnight
Your face, once a marble mask
mobile, uncertain

A body, embraced
by shadows and myself
panes lit by moonlight

And meeting your palms
your touches gentler than
a falling silk shawl

All the spans of time
stretch out to eternity
instantaneous

Hands reaching over
and dozens of surfaces
tesselate softly

For a while, I think
the meaning of life is this
and then so it is

Is wanting you all?
I wish I were your habit
Wanting together

Leaving by lamplight
Your spirit a firefly
I’ve kept in a jar

Uncertain future
suspended in brief moments
of today’s meeting

Crimson poppies sprout
from her butterflied neck
but not as graceful

The squid’s creation
Unbeknownst to himself
idleness and bubbles

You read, I’m writing
Nothing that hasn’t been done
So- why bother?

You write while I read
remnants of past monuments
The moral is nothing

A pristine kitchen
In my community dorm
No cups to be found

Ah, I don’t know this
I’ll decorate my ignorance
and most will be fooled

Some occasions I
make people very happy
and I don’t know why