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i sit here in tomorrow,
as you lay there in yesterday.
sunday 16th november '14 ~ credit: the creep that loved you ~ i find pieces of you in the breaths and whispers of daily life
Mosaic  Apr 2014
timezones
Mosaic Apr 2014
You sit in sunshine
While nighttime caresses my lips
And sleepiness is a war keeping me
from your morning
You fit into tomorrow
While the past is a circle trying to be a square
Back to try our luck at the American dream
With three suitcases full of fading memories
Stories you don't care to hear
With people once near and dear
Now they've disappeared.

I left a Sydney summer romance
For a transcontinental breakup
In the dead of winter
I'd convinced myself I'd get back what I'd lost
In the lime-light

No where feels like home
But the open road
I'll go at it alone
Through deadzones
Through timezones

I say I'm finally home in Philly
But I say **** I don't mean
They said that's not where you're from
I say I'll start where I am
But I won't end up here.

So I flew out to a West Coast Christmas
To smoke some **** in the sun
But global ruined wrecked my fun

No where feels like home
But the open road
I'll go at it alone
Through deadzones
Through timezones

Now it's always sunny in Philadelphia
And raining in L.A.
The world has took a 180
What else can I say

I can't help thinking that I've done it all wrong
Traveled the world and back
Seen everything there is to see
And I have nothing to show for it
Besides the stolen sand in my suitcase
And faded summer dreams

No where feels like home
But the open road
I'll go at it alone
Through deadzones
Through timezones
Devyani Mahajan  Nov 2016
Muddled
Devyani Mahajan Nov 2016
We have our timezones.
You have lit my nights
with oil lamps,
and scribbled words,
dripping ink,
bright blue circular, circumventing words.

I have glistened your days,
with sunshine,
and the smell of rain,
with sprinkles of cool
breeze showering on you.

My candles and rays,
are tip toeing out of sight,
I fall short of noticing them,
(partly because work kills me)
but more so,
because you have made
them seamless,
and thriving.

My pages,
do not boast of love,
or affection,
or any of that miserable
writing,
they screams passion,
they rip into anger
and courage,
belief,
belief you sewed into me,
with your gentle hands,
fidgeting and seeking.

And your eyes,
do not burn from the sunshine,
they glow,
and stare into the depths,
I see in you.
I know you hate the rain,
so mine doesn’t actually come down on you,
it lingers with its scent teasing you.
The cold breeze doesn’t
suffocate your breath,
it travels through
your body- within your veins,
it is breath.

We have our timezones,
but we meet at the horizon.
Aleeza  Nov 2017
[ unconscious ]
Aleeza Nov 2017
I didn’t know you’d be here
dressed in jeans and a jacket unlike what you used to wear
I know those glasses perched on your nose
used to bump my nose ridge against them
as I pecked you on the cheek

unconsciously I straighten up
leaning against a granite bar
sipping champagne I’ve never liked
smiling my brightest smile even as it falters at the edges

I used to down 3 coffees
at 3am in the airport waiting for you
always the first one to greet your jetlagged laugh
airline food packets crinkling as we hug

this time you’re here without warning
possibly still drowsy from your flight
talking with the people we have left before
swirling the dark wine in your glass
the tiredness in your bones anything but evident

almost on habit my mind races
a thousand conversation starters I may never use
my nails clinking against glass
a free hand fidgeting with the rings on my finger

it has been a while
that much I can admit
and I barely remember what it was like
to stroke your hair in the taxi as you slept
or how you would scarf down a plate of pancakes within moments
or the way your hands would wave around as you talked

and ultimately I can say it’s been too long
as I pass my thumb over the silver of a wedding band
thinking of the promise engraved into its inside
and how the vows I made before having this
were too much like what I promised you

your voice loud and clear in my mind
timezones away and yet still so ecstatic as I told you the news
you swore to come back for the big day
hours into the night spent talking about how that was everything
about the blue flowers I wanted
and the cake I’ve always looked at from afar

then only a few weeks before
you tell me about how you couldn’t come
work was hectic and you couldn’t afford to lose a week
and I understood
yet I couldn’t help the stab I felt
so I pushed that down and smiled even if you couldn’t see it

on the day
I still looked for you
and your gentle urge for me to come forward with the swell of the music
I knew you wouldn’t be there
and yet a part of me hoped

when they played a video message from you
I couldn’t stop the tears
and I was streaking my face and my clothes
but it didn’t matter
you were almost a world away
but it felt like you were right there
snow falling all around you but your smile unfaltering in its warmth

and there you are
right across from me in this cramped room
and yes I’ve told you about nearly everything
from my kid to a new job to a reunion concert you should’ve gone to with me
yet I still hesitate to start anything
with you almost within arm’s reach

I gulp down more of the pale fizz
steeling my nerves as I decide
I of all people should talk with you
no matter what the years or the miles have done to us
for I may not have a chance like this soon

my steps are unsure but too quick to rethink
you don’t see me approach and that gives me a moment to breathe
before I tap your shoulder and you turn around
your face lit up more than the Christmas tree in the corner

your arms wide open before I know it
and my body leaning forward because it knows where it belongs
it’s a marvel how we still fit into each other’s spaces
almost our own universe away from everyone else
silent despite the thunder of our hearts

we pull away and still it feels like I’m home
with the laughter bubbling in our chests
and how could I forget
those eyes that are almost exactly like mine
ones I see every day in my reflection
a comfort I didn’t know I missed

after a while of more chit chat
we break away from the hustle of the people we barely know now
our glasses empty and on a table somewhere
there is enough in our systems to warm the chill of the night
and enough to make us stumble and giggle as we step away
leaving the music and the low lights
in favor of the moon and the calm

we lean against the railings of a terrace
talking about everything and nothing
with you first asking about the child you haven’t seen apart from the pictures
and me injecting questions about the place you’ve just moved in
I keep looking at the dark blanket of sky above us
and even as I nearly catch your gaze on me several times I don’t let you know
and my heart is as calm as ever
but for some reason I feel flowers bloom in the forgotten spaces between my ribs

somewhere between the last notes of a song thumping through the floor
and a light rain kissing our skin
your hand almost wanders into mine
as if it remembers too
how everything fits when it comes to us
but I see you pull back
snapping out of your thoughts and back into the reality
of who we are now and what we have
and what we lost

you ask me if it’s time for me to go
and it is but I don’t admit that out loud
so I say that I can stay for a while longer
and I am reminded of how beautiful you are under soft light
as your face breaks into an almost-smile

so there we stay
nothing more to say
as we understand each other beyond what any words can do
I keep thinking of how you will have to leave soon
and I know that this time
I will miss you even more

not sure if I will still be able to meet your sleepy eyes when you come home
not sure if I will still talk to you as often as I have since our timezones permitted it before but not now
not sure if any of our smiles will remain as the years take its toll on us
not sure if anyone will ever truly know me the way you did

I cave and say that maybe I should really go
you respond with a nod and an automatic stretching of arms
I settle into them one last time
steal a peck on your cheek and bump my nose ridge against your glasses
and I slip away knowing that we will find our way again
because that is what we have always done.
Alicia  Apr 2019
10. timezones
Alicia Apr 2019
Six hours behind.
If we were in the same time zone
I wouldn’t have to spend all my day
Waiting for you to wake up
And missing you like crazy,
And I wouldn’t **** up my sleep pattern
Just so I can talk to you.
dth Jul 2014
Looking at the picture of your house made me daydream about the day when I finally stood in front of your door and you waited for me to knock. My hands hovered with hesitation, trembled in vain, held by the bind of doubts and what ifs. I did not knock yet you knew that I was there, just like that you felt my presence; I could barely remember when did you start became so intuitive. Door slammed open, two pairs of eyes met for a fleet second and hands intertwined that instant. Our souls entangled and we swore in that moment we were infinite. Your very self broke down and I myself ruptured when we decided to lock the door and got ourselves enraptured by the feelings of regret, with cheeks wet and hairs messed. We caught each other’s clothing damp with god knows how much tears, yet we did not seem thirsty. I would not dare to say that we were sober, as we perpetually drank shots of our life essence—shaken, not stirred—and got a little intoxicated. I could taste our consciousness altered, surging like a mind-numbing deluge within our insides; I was afraid that we might get hangovers by the time the sun rose. Your fingers traced down my veins, yearned for unceasing strong pulses and tried to elucidate that it was not a dream, that it was not a pure delusional fantasy resonated by a mere cerebral cortex. Hearts beaten by the way we caress every single affliction that bonded the two of us, broke free from the misery we deliberately lived. Pieces by pieces you filled the cavity that used to draw close my heart and it was long gone after you. Now that we literally got each other’s back in our grasp, I could imagine how fragile yet how sturdy these very chassis that held two living beings could get. The boundaries fell into oblivion as we slowly melt ourselves together; like ice cream in the sun, like iron in the welding pit, like wolves beneath the moon, like thunder on the shore shut silent by thick clouds of entity. Fingers crossed that there would be no more 3.444 miles and two vexing timezones away between us. Like tempered glass on a car crash, I crumbled and I gave myself to you as whole. Our breath so fervent, fire could not seem to burn us. Knees weaken thus bodies slid down the wall, creaked the wooden floor and just like that shoes scattered and so did our heads, thoughts messed just the way we liked it. One year, two years, five years, ten years, one divine eternity and I still would not let this moment lapse.
Jesse Osborne Jul 2015
There's a painting by Botticelli
I've always loved,
showing Venus being born naked
from the ocean and
not fearing the current.
Those around her renounce her body,
scrambling to clothe her,
turn her virginal,
contain the way her eyes cross galaxies,
shine all the way to Pluto.
But she is soft, unwavering,
not noticing the mortals' concern
about her *******
and bare collarbone that could catch water
at its base.

I found you halfway across the world on the steps of the Uffizi
and in the 3 hours it took you
to show me some of the best art on earth,
I was transfixed only
on the orbits of planets in your eyes.
Shortly before the sun set,
you took me through the secret corridor
Cosimo de' Medici built to walk across the
rooftops of the city
where you kissed me but
told me you didn't believe in love,
that all you needed was art,
and Michelangelo,
and in that moment
I saw Venus in your collarbone.
Saw a shell under your feet,
saw the universe in the way your freckles connected,
saw how you immortalize yourself
among the rest of the art in Florence
so no human can bring you down to earth,
can make your heart stop,
show you what it's like to cross timezones
with a single touch.
And here I am,
wanting to be your Botticelli,
to paint the uneven ***** of your shoulders,
the crookedness of your right ankle,
your fear of exposing yourself to someone
who could love you.
It must be lonely out there, Venus,
on your little fishing boat by the sea.

Botticelli's painting was found
long after his death,
laid into the floor of
an abandoned villa in the south of Tuscany.
Venus looking lost and mortal
between cracked paint and chipping walls,
like the way you hide between
the dusty statues of the dead statesmen and fading portraits
long after the museum closes,
just you with only history to hold.
You want to believe in love
as past-tense,
like you've lost faith in present participles and the fact
that art is still being made,
and people are running barefoot into future conjugations
together.

Don't come back to land, Venus. Vanessa.
I won't be here waiting with a towel
or an art critic
or a spaceship.
But maybe,
just make a little room for me on your shell
under the sun,
atop steady waves or Florentine rooftops.
Throw the map overboard.
Let's forget the shore.

And Michelangelo and the rest of them
will smile as they see us off.
Amanda Stoddard Jul 2014
There is no hope for this sanity I spend my days divulging in.
I dive and dig and burrow my way through these sands of time
trying to find a mind my body would work well with
but these days, these days are numbered
and my life is a leap year.
It's February again and I am cold on the inside,
but it's actually July and it's hot outside
but my mind can't tell the difference.
My body is indulging in the solitude of snow and darkness and winter.
Whether or not my body knows that the days mesh together
and the weather doesn't exactly make you feel invincible
well the verdict is still out.
The cold makes me feel invisible and the heat makes me melt
my mind is on thin ice and mother nature knows more about me
than my own mother.
I am in love with the idea of belonging to no one
and never owning a calendar because these years
they all blend together in the end
and you end up trapped under 50 feet of snow
and debt and diapers and divorce papers.
Nothing is set in stone
and these hands on the clock you spend your days watching
are just fixed elements in your subconscious
making it feel like you have your life together
when in reality, you don't and never will.
This life is calendar year and our days are numbered
365 days until you realize you spent another year
watching a clock that ticks for you and a billion other people.
But when will you stop and realize, the stars are watching
and they never skip a beat.
And somehow this earth still turns slowly
even when yours feels like it's weighing down on your chest
and you can't breathe because it's too cold
and you can't run because you can't feel your feet
so you're stuck there wishing
that you remembered what summer felt like,
it's just another calendar year
and your car door is frozen shut again,
and you're already late for work.
and it's just another calendar year.

I'm in love with the idea of belonging to no one
but I'm in love with belonging to nothing instead.
It's just another calendar year
and I'm not going to waste it wishing for a sunshine
that won't be coming anytime soon.
The weather is bi-polar, as am I.
So I appreciate the change-
because I can finally relate to something
when everyone else is stuck wishing for the sun.

I look up at the stars and realize-
we're all in different timezones
but we all share the same sky.
my mind is everywhere right now and I think this really depicts that.
Cielo Gebilaguin Feb 2011
If after afterall,



I'd still take a stab at writing about you,

then I guess nothing has changed

from that psychedelic view.



It's barely noon and I feel that one

February where we stopped seeing that

view, a scenery so changed by oceans

and timezones and the ever changing me

and you.



After afterall,

these little peace signs still hang

around from my  neck, then I guess it's

the same as wearing my heart on my

sleeve, and your name's still on it.





*Reader, do not listen to William Fitszimmons on a Thursday, when you're on a deadline.

— The End —