the first time we touched in the rain you slipped away
because my fingers were slick with the water falling fro
m somewhere above our heads. the youth we had was
unreal due to the cigarettes we smoked and the late nig
hts we spent together as if we didn't have a bed time. w
hy don't we touch anymore? why have our meetings b
ecome so s p a c e d o u t ? you left me in the rain, in a pu
ddle of the tears we cried together, in a river of sweat we
poured, in a monsoon of memories that we made. I was
indeed your only love child, your only youthful anchor,
so now you have grown old and I can no longer see you.

it's an all too familiar, all too ironic situation —
knowing safety, softness —
lingering tastes off darkness' tongue,
now trailing down our skin.

the dark has taught us that
safezone is having the night skies
perched around us
and the moon rises from every touch, slipping,
from every kiss, ending;

and yet, how can something so dim, so obscure
remind me of the sun and its clarity?
darling, these rendezvous have taught me that
you are the lovechild of the night and the day
and i am likened to a vampire
whose fatal flaw is its
longing for the sun.

oh, to see you,
touch you,
kiss you

in the daylight

without burning.
without hiding.
without fears and pretenses.




and yet, we can only be in this all too familiar, all too ironic situation;
we can only be, in the safety of the nightfall —
we can only be, darling, in safety of the dark.