i open my eyes,
each sunrise
to feel
his warm breeze.

i walk the pavements
of wisdom
just to sense
his saturated touch.

i look up and witness
the horizontal thin layers
of autumn skies,
forcefully done
like his breathless goodbyes.

yes, there were
ambivalence
at first.

or maybe,
there weren't
who knows?

i had to
do
what i did
just to
dissemble
the fact that-
that there were fear
in her eyes,
yours truly,
and yes,
i was able.

although
languor
caressed my cheeks
like no one else did
my mind
my heart,
up to my thalamus
down to my tummy butterflies,
i was filled
with
mild
jubilation.

felicitous
thoughts
overflowed,
lik­e halcyon notes
and waves
refracted on the walls,
and scenic moonshine
and sun rays
draw my days like
it was them
asking me
to saunter,
and to murmur
the words
"you" wanted to hear

but the sound
the keycaps make
doesn't end
with simple
"hey and hello"

it actually started
with a "ping"
and there she goes:
"hey, i have
a not-so-huge crush
on you,
a tiny little crush,
like vapors
no roar."

thirteen nights passed,
thirteen days trashed,
she thought t'was done,
over, capped,
she thought that
it was just a snippet of
likeness and will
soon conclude.

so, step 1: deny? maybe
i was wrong? or was he?
step 2: wrath! rant?
oh trust me, she had
thirteen people to chat
step 3: no more bargains,
no more trades,
no room for sadness
just proceed with
step 5: acceptance

but.

he said but this:
"your name, yes yours
were the first
to enter in this
quadrilateral dialogue
box, and yes
thirteen moons passed
and still, you're
all that "cached"
in my memory,
not too blurry to skim
and not too
drunken to spill."

there he and she started
typing the cynosure
story.


maybe i like you,
or maybe i don't
and today,
this day,
this night,
is when you'll see
and
when you'll hear
with your human lens
and mundane ears
what we are
how we are
and what we may be
and that is the
denouement
of our story,
so,

this is my proposal:
thirteen days sketched to three