I.
don’t.
don’t cross out yourself. is
what he’ll say if
the stars actually aligned
and the corridors emptied
like magic,
he dreamt
of a place
where fairies weren’t female
or prancing like he did
in his hard hat
a steel wall from words
better left unsaid
II.
skin.
upon skin upon skin
upon fragrant how’s and wow’s.
he never cared much until
a glance, a look,
a stare for far too long,
slow burn in his heart
while his cheeks
red
handed from a look in return.
a wink? a glare?
anything at all?
the other he stares
at the soul who dares
not to reveal
to unconceal
a tender yearning
of minds too raw
to compute the
facts, but also,
the shared values.
III.
deft.
that’s what it’s called,
in the dark and
in the calm.
vigourously,
scrunched up in a
kaleidoscope of
dreams,
lapping it
up
sooner
than he almoste̶d̶ wanted.
blame the other he,
his “other he”.
IV.
Time passes.
Fact or fiction,
question or conviction?
No one locks his heart away,
not his hands,
not his arms,
and not even his mind.
His mouth does all the talking,
keeping mum on what
the heart dares to
but siding with dad
when time takes its bow.
V.
Can I say something?
Forget him.
Or her and him.
As light comes
to truth tells,
what do I own,
if not these takes
on a single story
or married multiverse
or divorced demise?
Stars tell no lies
At least in La La Land.
If one could only dream
that I had never
deftly —
VI.
fullness,
clearing of the breeze
the gentle clutter of nothingness
done right by
the slate.
no one has
depleted
no cell has
raised its hand
if only equilibrium was truly consistent
don’t we all
don’t it all
— don’t you?
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 3:37 AM UTC
I.
don’t.
don’t cross out yourself. is
what he’ll say if
the stars actually aligned
and the corridors emptied
like magic,
he dreamt
of a place
where fairies weren’t female
or prancing like he did
in his hard hat
a steel wall from words
better left unsaid
II.
skin.
upon skin upon skin
upon fragrant how’s and wow’s.
he never cared much until
a glance, a look,
a stare for far too long,
slow burn in his heart
while his cheeks
red
handed from a look in return.
a wink? a glare?
anything at all?
the other he stares
at the soul who dares
not to reveal
to unconceal
a tender yearning
of minds too raw
to compute the
facts, but also,
the shared values.
III.
deft.
that’s what it’s called,
in the dark and
in the calm.
vigourously,
scrunched up in a
kaleidoscope of
dreams,
lapping it
up
sooner
than he almoste̶d̶ wanted.
blame the other he,
his “other he”.
IV.
Time passes.
Fact or fiction,
question or conviction?
No one locks his heart away,
not his hands,
not his arms,
and not even his mind.
His mouth does all the talking,
keeping mum on what
the heart dares to
but siding with dad
when time takes its bow.
V.
Can I say something?
Forget him.
Or her and him.
As light comes
to truth tells,
what do I own,
if not these takes
on a single story
or married multiverse
or divorced demise?
Stars tell no lies
At least in La La Land.
If one could only dream
that I had never
deftly —
VI.
fullness,
clearing of the breeze
the gentle clutter of nothingness
done right by
the slate.
no one has
depleted
no cell has
raised its hand
if only equilibrium was truly consistent
don’t we all
don’t it all
— don’t you?
this is a tale from a fading night.
