FROM THE POETRY ALBUM: BELIEVERS TO THE GOLDEN RETRIEVERS.
I. Asymptot...
Perhaps I have filled my days with ignorance —
that I had thought life stopped giving me a second chance,
and the words stopped coming out of my mouth,
so I bridged friendships in the south.
However, I can tell when my skin has exuded with moisture,
when my reveries have reflected my peculiar gesture.
I watch you meticulously — my minutes chipping away —
You’re not even staring back, just existing vividly.
Since November I held myself in high regard,
I looked upwards and shuffled backwards when
intimacy breathes down my neck.
Nothing changed since then, love was easy to bend,
but something about your demeanor belittled me:
I dove myself in my selfish grace, but you were
a kind of selfishness I couldn’t brace.
That same day — you came and touched my face.
A gigantic shard impaled my chin, but it wasn’t sharp.
It mimicked smooth, silky, and beguiling skin.
Contradictory in every sense, it still pierced me
so effortlessly. Like reading a child’s fable with such melancholy
it made a grown man weep. It’s unorthodox, like a snowflake in spring.
Though there was more than the touch that lingered.
Your touch spoke in riddles. In pools of uncertainty.
It succumbed to thoughts, or in feeling. In desire or curiosity.
And I, I indulged in it like the age of summer swallowing the heat.
At first, I placed my glances upon pedestals deprived of
inviting countenance. I reigned upon blue and violet skies.
You were on the same level as me. I saw all of you with child-like glee.
Our seeds did not quite create contact but beside each other we entangled roots.
Was it because I got a better view of you? Is that why I want to bear your fruit?
Are you feeling all of this too?
Tell me you’re not, and assure my heart that you’re signaling truth,
or else I may meddle in our impalpable affair. I might start to care.
And if I do, what if your love wasn’t something for me to bear?
That I may veer into the line that disembodied my pride
and find a line that cannot be breached, but only to stare?
I may sway into volcanic embers and burn then and there.
All this time, your touch would have handcuffed my heart. Your touch
was a grotesque specter that blindly led to my predicament.
Of shame, of displaced faith, of a missing golden retriever who’s
found himself in the same place as before, forever and evermore.
— Yes, the line proves we’ll be but something else.
But somehow, it kills me that an element of love shan’t be addressed.
Hi!!! This is the first single of my new 'poetry album' Believers To The Golden Retrievers, a collection or an anthology of works filled with my most honest and transparent views on love, life, and everything in between! I took a lot of inspiration from my experiences last year and so one of the goals that I aspire to accomplish in creating this album is to explore a version of me that went through different emotions, different ****, and I want to celebrate how instead of leaving them behind I've decided to neatly wrap them up (and all the same humor my quenchable imaginative juice) into this album. Anyway, that's all I have to say for now, ENJOY READING!!
