in a way
two writers
who fall in love
plagiarize
each other—

because they see love
with the same eyes
that made them see
each other, then
they write about it.

if you never talk to strangers
how else would you know anyone?

does a baby know his mother
without seeing her
when he goes out of the womb?

does a toddler go by himself
in a playground, not sharing
his toys to the other kids?

does a child go in school
for the very first time
and not make any friends?

does a person not smile
to the person behind the bar
in a coffee shop?

i say lovers were
strangers to one another
at some point in time--

and if you've never talked to strangers
you've never loved at all.

our song plays
in an infinite loop
poetry fixed with melody
set in orchestration
with our emotions

but no—
our song plays endlessly
but it stops and pauses
with breaks for breaths
and i may not have
counted the times
it played over
in my head

but i do know
that nothing is infinite.

I’ll stay
even if dusk
settles, and all
you see is a
starless sky

I’ll be your moon
and i’ll light up
your night, we’ll
make stars out
of the tears
we hold inside

I’ll be the last moonbeam
that kisses your eyes
before the break
of the sunrise—

when Venus shines
and the sun covers
my subtle light,
i’ll wait for you
until the twilight comes.

I will find you
and I will make you taste
ink, spilled from the pits
of my gut, so you can
taste the bitterness
of your ill words

I will make you see
that words may define me
but they won't matter
because I see myself differently
from you, and you, and yes, you

But I won't hurt you
that's too easy for me
I'll let your curiosity grow
until you'll wonder why you
even hated me in the first place.

I went to the beach
with our memories
in mind

I took a dip
so its ashes
may sink in
sea water

and the fishes
would eat the
bitter ends left of
our love

but our memories
bathed me wholly--

and I went home
soaked in tears.

art is the closest
to perfection
that we see

poetry
is describing
its perfection
in words aplenty

prose
is the rise of words
to build up
perfection

we mortals
use our minds
to make sense of
things that we
feel and see—

that, in itself
is perfection.