In a drop of you, I lost an ocean of me.

To love yourself is an art.

Nameless men sketch their fantasies along my hips
admiring me as I were their
                                                           masterpiece.

**** in an antique wooden frame
    that hangs by my throat,
                                                            gagging.

I remember
sometimes

her voice would quiver

like paper lanterns
dancing in some
foreign nighttime glow

I fancy
sometimes

I knew that sweet tremble

at a tea ceremony table
beneath Chinese skies
many years before

it first caressed my ear

Some poems create
a resonating chamber
deep inside my heart.

There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest

There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare

There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you

You are tortured
Stereotyped
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk