I see no other endless tomorrow than

To lie face to face with you

On a bed of lavenders and violets.

The cool sun magnifies

The verdant fields in your eyes

And the radiant shadows of my hair.

Morning breeze enshrouds our bodies

Sustained by flames more eternal than Vesta’s.

Here forever after

In my ideal world.



If I felt hunger it shall not last long,

For there are nectars from the giant continent that is you.

If you knew thirst it shall be quenched,

Just drink from my hidden wells and fountains.

But remember that I’m not like the ancient Eve

And you can only be the Adam in our own accord.

The butterflies or birds won’t shame me.

The grasses or trees won’t complain.

For loving you is the only truth

In my ideal world.



My hands are here to heal and amuse you,

As long as your arms embrace me from harm.

We own only the lips and ears

Where sweet sounds pass by

To lull as to dream or memorize

We’ll not know starless night of horror,

The way the moon becomes our constant watcher.

We’ll fear no lightning or thunder of wrath

For the rain will be our noble preserver.

Come and stay

In my ideal world.



We don’t have to worry about Sunday

Or think of God to pray.

Nature is our divine link to the cosmos,

And us the perpetual worship fleshed out.

Celestial or earthly we need not know

For this is the spot where boundaries depart.
But all these remain as bright colors in my head

Unless you key in yourself in my mind

And enshrine me to your heart.

Our story can be written by our breath

On petals and foliage of existence to this place.

Somewhere we can call ours,

Come and take

My ideal world.

Feels like a soul floating,
Naked but knowing exactly
What can wrap it with joy.
Yet it remains bare,
For that happiness cannot be worn.
Doing so would be
More wanton than its ******.
I lay here on this bed
Where I return to nakedness.
As the body next to me
Had its fiery garb grew fainter,
Swift as we share it in minutes.
I watched away as soon as he fades
For my thoughts still live with the day
When your hands were enough to clad me in love.
Now, I feel cold after settling to his cloth
That dies like the petals of the morning flowers.
I miss your palms and the happiness that covers me,
Too bad I had to stay this way seen by the world
And can never again wear the joy of your love
That was never been mine forever.

Dear Sun-God,

The Bel fires are lit again,
but not to rejoice as before,
for they are flames of my bereaved heart.
They are embers of manifold sadness I feed upon
the feast of handfasting.

Every Adam and each Eve
a rich union of sprouting forests
with flowers and horns to crown their wantonness.
But for the Son of Moon,
No Son-God can be held
to coronate his nativity.

The flowers are shades of November
And the horns are spikes of pain;
for I cannot hear you in the air
nor feel you in the ground near.

The earth was shunned by the hands
that strum its heartbeat
and was sent back to slumber
in the pinnacle of May.

Have you not seen the call of Pleiades
when you took flight in the heavens?
Have you not heard the semantics of  
the desert you landed on?

You left me the afterglow of you to stare
As I drink the ocean of our distance.
It might have put off the ache
if you had proclaimed the omens of farewell
and not a multitude of air for me to embrace.

If your feet touch my sacred earth again,
I will kiss you like infinity
and enfold you akin to eternity.
Be grateful I made it known
what compensation to deliver
against your undeclared departure-
your prelude to your return.
                  
                   Love be not mortal,
                   Child of Moon