You'll ask me why I go back to memories every time. Well here's my answer.

Soft sunshine played
with your golden hair,
teasing your eyes
and my heart
into imagining
all kinds of art near the sea shore.

Doodles of the lone yellow blossom
pepper all my books
from the last time
your loving looks
swept like waves across my messy hair.

I couldn't help but stare
when you looked across the sea
to the other side,
and we wondered
why gaps are never deep,
they're always w i d e.

And the melting music
that flowed between us
showed me that
silence with silent notes
from me to you
are better than
the violence of interactions,
that my thoughts f
                                  l
                                      o
                                          w
                                              d
                                           o
                                     w
                                 n
                         in words,
and your words in f/r/a/c/t/i/o/n/s.

Matching your pace
through hooded lanes,
wooded alleys,
your laugh made me
want to find warmth
in every valley in my heart.
Our hands on fresh book spines,
touching worlds far,
                                     far away,
the two of us drunk
on the wines of company and conversation.
If touching words that made no sense
to either of us were a dream,
honey I'd like to flash it across every screen.

You'll ask me why
I go back to memories of you
every
single
time,
and I'll tell you
that our time is sacred, jaan.
All my hours are yours
and you are mine.

You are the waves
b r e a k i n g
against the sea,
You are the golden sunshine.

I'll **** you out someday.
When tangles of roots
and tangles of branches
and tangled wisps of every breath
we took together lie
tangled in the wild grass,
brushing our knees.
Please believe.*

One day, I'll **** you out.
Poison Ivy of your thoughts
runs up and
d
o
w
n
all sorts of walls,
there's ivy draped crumbling pillars
to every hall,
and poison dripping out of your mouth
and I feel
small.

But trust me - one day, I'll **** you out.
Secrets lie in every stalk of
seacress you stole from the sea
to dress underwater labyrinths
that you planted in my barren mind.
Secretive looks wound up
in secret sighs and
secret smiles,
and what do you think
and what do I feel,
all locked up
inside sea green boxes.

Of course you're leaving my space,
I told you,
I'm weeding you out.
There's moss on gates
that have held shut cemeteries of loss.
Moss covered stones line pathways
that crisscross to form the shape of you
thinking about the afterlife.
Moss greets cold concrete
with promises of lost stories of you,
recounted with
every
mood
I've ever seen you in.

I know I keep saying this,
but I will **** you out.
Till then,
I'll save the darkness
under light leaves
for an eve that talks to me
of the wonders you held in your eyes.
Leaves that will ease me
into sleeves of warmth
made from the last time
your arms found mine.
Till then,
the last light from your words
will fight to shine through the overgrown grass,
now knee high,
till I can sight it
from a 100
                 light
                        years
                                away.
Till then,
the seeds of a heart you planted
will start sprouting into a mighty tree,
its branches spreading
a r t
across time and space.

I'll **** you out someday.
But that day is **not today.

you are gentle breeze on
a seashore, and i am small
flitting pebbles stuck in the
sand, shuffling in and out
with the lazy tide. You are
the unending pools of blue
under a cerulean sky, and i
am small ripples of information
across a canvas made of you.

You are the familiar strum of
a gentle guitar on a slow Sunday
evening when the wind tries to
sing songs of me and you, and i
am the trembling, faltering voice
trying to challenge this wind to
a duel of hopelessness.
You are a slow walk in leaf-
covered alleys sheltered from
a busy life, and i am anxious skips
crossing the road, but only looking
at you.

You are the steady gaze of a
warm feeling spreading in my
heart, and i am nervous flits and
distracted movements, a shaking
body, and a cool heart.
You are the welcoming silence
into which my words fold
themselves, covered up with
blankets stitched with sighs,
and you tuck them all in.

And i,
i am the clutter of syllables,
against an electric sky under
which we sit in peace - draped
in rambling silences. Your search
for more, my search for less,
your heavy eyes, and my quivering
voice.

And we both go down together.

We've been this way for a very long time, we've been together for more time than you can imagine. Little weary chains link our minds, looping in and out and up and down. We're this tangled mess of synced thoughts and synced dreams, and sinking syllables. 

Every sigh that you let slip from your tired lips is an indication of my exhaustion, because you and I, we lie in comfortable tessellation.

You and I, we've been through magical realism, and the romantics, and the surrealists, the grammar nazis and the pretenders.

You and I, we've etched each other in shifting sands, in clumsy waves.

You and I, we know each other's movements across a blank sheet of paper.

You waltz onto empty pages with constellations for punctuation. Screens may read verbose sacrifices to the patron saint of inspiration, but you, you don't stop or pause to check for abbreviation.

You take half hearted syllables and turn them into poetic nations, you build monuments to love but you neglect infatuation.

You try to touch every single figment of my overactive imagination but then you shuffle away so as not to cause complete annihilation.

You speak lucid languages in times of complete inebriation and you continue this slurred speech against all drunk invitations.

You try to write me down in moments of utter desperation but the grip of your words falter as I run to my wild desolation. 

You and I, we've run across clouds, left our footprints in the wake of comets.

You and I, we've sailed all the seas of consciousness, those that can be fathomed, and otherwise.

Slowly, your step exceeded mine, and your stride was longer, so I struggled to keep time. Slowly, I felt our tangles unwind. Slowly, our roots straightened out in a single line and you crossed it.
You crossed it.

Un Saut dans le vide, a leap into the dark, and you were up, up and away. I wanted to trap you in cunning similes, but you were running as fast as the wind.

Little weary chains that linked our minds now struggle at the seams, tiny links begin to
unlink,
unlink,
unlink.

one
by
one
by
one.

you are swirling pools
of azure, and i am the
noiseless motion of the
sea, and we shout into
the nothingness. you
are foam upon the
crest of a wave, and
i am a shell stuck in
the sand; always
shifting, but never to
disappear. you are tepid
vapor rising from the
sea, and i am sea cress
on the coast, both
clouding vision in one
instant, vanishing in
another. you are the
dipping sun, orange
as it drowns, and i am
shafts of red, flowing
over and spilling onto
warms sands, and we
both go down
together.

Now
i am one
with
the air.
i float up,
ever so light,
to greet the pale blue
dream that awaits me above.

Now i am a cloud
un  nuage, una nube
एक बादल, nubes
i am one with the cold drops,
i am one with these headwinds,
i am one with the heavens.

Now i shall stir
i hear the peacocks
wailing
in anticipation,
waiting,
waiting for me to
to gather strength,
to g r o w in size
till i finally descend
thundering,
quivering,
carrying fierce energy
  in my arms.
   i cradle her gently,
              and then she
     tears through
  my dark expanses
a flash of light,
to momentarily
illuminate
the fields.

Now
i could crash down
with all my might
and bore h o l e s
in steady rocks,

or i could be that
   life-giving shower,
        caressing
          the earth,
              landing gently
                   *to rejuvenate

You are vibrant patterns
of colored star-dust, and
I am a mute spectator.
You are streams of clouds
bursting with music, you
rain pure joy, and I, a
welcoming blossom.
You are infinite pools of
pink affection and I am
a blank sheet. You are
the movement of life in
the skies and I, an observer
on the ground. You are
sensitive ideals and I
am malleable motion.
You are incessant love
and i am staccato
acceptance. You are
clear head space and i
am poorly articulated
mumbling. You are all
the color, all the joy, all
the love. I am scribbled
footnotes in browning
novels.