All I wanted
was a word or two
— from time to time.
I nursed your jasmine
back to life,
drop by drop,
from a porcelain cup
with lipstick on the rim.
Now she tiptoes like a waif
across my room,
and twirls her tongue around
the latch, and wears
the most provocative perfume.
When she casts a glance my way,
with gold dust in her eyes,
I wonder how she stays
so lithe and free,
when you left her here
alone with me.
I love the distance that we share
— too far away to get too near,
yet not so far
to tear apart
this fragile bond
subsisting on your disregard.
One day, perhaps,
we’ll meet again
— your luggage toppled
at the open door,
a trail of jasmine on the sill,
while bodies writhe
like martyrs on the cross,
and flesh records
with bite and claw
the parables of our brokenness.
And so, what then?
When passions cool
and sweat turns chill,
and love runs out of words?
How perverse to taste
my salt upon your lips,
your liquor on my breath,
while I stare
in perfect wonder
at the stranger staring back,
still heaving in the moonlight
with jasmine in her hair.
I burn a candle for you
every night,
its wax scalds my fingertips,
then lays a parting kiss
— or flits and sways
in the evening breeze.
But deep in the night,
when the moon takes flight,
and darkness drops
its velvet curtain
on my sill,
it burns
with a hot and
shuddering flame,
that courts the empty corners
of my room.
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 10:45 AM UTC
All I wanted
was a word or two
— from time to time.
I nursed your jasmine
back to life,
drop by drop,
from a porcelain cup
with lipstick on the rim.
Now she tiptoes like a waif
across my room,
and twirls her tongue around
the latch, and wears
the most provocative perfume.
When she casts a glance my way,
with gold dust in her eyes,
I wonder how she stays
so lithe and free,
when you left her here
alone with me.
I love the distance that we share
— too far away to get too near,
yet not so far
to tear apart
this fragile bond
subsisting on your disregard.
One day, perhaps,
we’ll meet again
— your luggage toppled
at the open door,
a trail of jasmine on the sill,
while bodies writhe
like martyrs on the cross,
and flesh records
with bite and claw
the parables of our brokenness.
And so, what then?
When passions cool
and sweat turns chill,
and love runs out of words?
How perverse to taste
my salt upon your lips,
your liquor on my breath,
while I stare
in perfect wonder
at the stranger staring back,
still heaving in the moonlight
with jasmine in her hair.
I burn a candle for you
every night,
its wax scalds my fingertips,
then lays a parting kiss
— or flits and sways
in the evening breeze.
But deep in the night,
when the moon takes flight,
and darkness drops
its velvet curtain
on my sill,
it burns
with a hot and
shuddering flame,
that courts the empty corners
of my room.
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