My heart belongs to the ocean.
Its size comparable to the vastness of the latter –
open and embracing to waves
of possibilities that carry
all my visions and ambitions into uncharted waters.

A message in the bottle: “Take care of it. It is yours.”

But the map that I hold did not tell me about love.
It did not tell me about you.
It did not tell me
that love is a device that could
throw me off my navigation. It did not
tell me that I would have to go through this again:
to make me feel so small in this infinity of feelings and expectations.

I recall that day when our eyes met across a sea of people.
My heart that day was washed ashore.
Curious, you picked it up. Wondering,
perhaps, where it had come from
and what stories it had to tell.
You leaned in closer and I knew you would hear more
than a tapping rhythm – but entire songs of joy, laughter, sadness and longing.
Captivated you were by this heart,
a bold sailor, who had sung the songs
of joy and laughter – ultimately, the song of adventure.

But I still do not know much about my rescuer.
(Or my captor?) We are now at full speed,
cutting across sea and sky, day and night
and mostly at night where the two lovers meet:
while the sky covers the sea in a blanket of stars, I look up
to see your eyes – blue pools of gentle mystery.

Day breaks again and again and I remember
why I am here in the first place.
There is a dream.
There is a plan.
A map that did not have you on it.
My heart has docked but not for long.
And soon we both know a ship will sail.
To where and with whom? Wouldn't we
Both like to learn.

My heart has washed ashore. “Take care of it,” the ocean says.
“For now, it is yours.”

The seagull squawked:
Are you dead?
I cannot see him - there is sand
In my eyes. A crab (it must have been)
Scuttles across my foot;
Picking up scraps at the seaweed
Wrapped around my toes: the vibrant
Green now worn out from its trip
Across the seas.

Land **! We rejoiced,
Docking at Island ---
It's your turn to name it.
Log Number 712: we are intoxicated
With a tropical fruit
That made your face flush
Putting every sunset to shame.  
And at night we play a game
To guess which is sea or sky.
You are my mirror.
A gentle breeze caresses my thigh.

Are you awake?
You whisper, your breath tickles
Condensing into dew
Landing on the tiny hairs of my ear.
The sand feels like mud but
My mouth is dry
I lick off the trail of sweat
On my upper lip - it is hot
I open my eyes to the sun screaming
at my face: Get up. You're late.

We had begun falling asleep  
At different times.  
You built a tree house
It made your heart race
And there you drew a scape
What was there to look beyond?
One night the sky had
The sea turned into smoke  
You followed the beating
Of thunder
So distant you couldn't
(Listen to me) yell Watch out!
Lightning --- the water shimmered
As you disappeared.

(Water)
Log number 890: we are capsized
(Water)

The crab picked out
The sand in my eyes
Dragging the seaweed to my mouth.
I chewed then spat and the seagull squawked:
"Are you dead?"
No, I said. I think I have arrived.

I used to call them
"those mass produced
Hallmark Cards"
and it was card
after card
letter after letter
you said "I love you"
in more ways than one.

You are
a gust of wind that
pushes me into a clear pool
a depth of ocean
that pulls me with enough
force to catapult me into
the sky. (oh I am afraid
of heights)
But I free fall -
the air muffling my scream---
a slap of wild earth
against my skin -
you are
a landslide - I slip
through a waterfall
your grasp I float
with ease in a river
flowing towards
grass. I roll to dry
the dew crowning my hair.

We lay on a net full of stars.
Another day awaits.

We are new.

Another wave rushes over me
My reflection scatters
in both sky and sea
Flooding my mind
with tiny whirpools of what can
And cannot be.

Another wave rushes toward me
I close my eyes and wait silently
A roar it makes,
It towers, it strengthens;
Then crashes below my feet.

Another wave, I see it coming
This time I run without the warning
A fish drowns in water
Not knowing where I've gone
Or where I'm going.

Another wave I see above me,
I slow down my breath, counting
One. Two. Three.
I pause, my eyes wide open
To find ripples of possibilities.

Tag - you're it.
And so is that, this, over there, here -
All things I have or cannot have,
A part of reality or a dream
That I consider #1 in a series.
Shall we compare notes?
We have the same thoughts -
So many thoughts we can hear  
but do not listen.
Instead we leave a blank
to be filled after what is done
and what has been said.
Not what is intended
and should have been.
Less is more, they said.
But the list goes on,
Lost in translation.

The whole in me
Is filled with you;
Expanding as I reach out
To pull you close
Until we both disappear,
Only knowing
Where we could choose to be.

Your love
Is a blanket that wraps me
And tucks and folds away
Any aches in my body;
I rest my hands
On a cup of tea
And shudder from the cold that is
Extinguished by your touch.
I relax, as heart beats play
A rhythm of warmth
Carried by the sound of
Your breath
That flutters like
hummingbird wings,
Buzzes like
A bee hovering
over a flower which sways
With the morning breeze.
Pollen tickles my ears,
nose, neck
The gold brushing against  
My skin
Ablaze with a fire
From your eyes;
They lure me into a desert
oasis of shade,
Pools of sweat refresh me.
I melt in your arms
Your hands
They draw away
the curtains to reveal
an orange sky.

For every season,
Nothing changes.

Rise!
Rise I say!
Rise with the sun, the eternal fire
of the world's glory,
burning on and spreading
wildly across your face
piercing your eyes,
and yes, piercing
into your soul.
It's breath
exhuming the shadows
that surround you.

I am born of light and color.

I am alive, once again.

And I am reminded of a Power
far Greater than I.
But am I worthy?
Do I have the right
to bask in, let alone,
witness this ascension
this celebration
of such authority?

And because you are generous
Time has painted
An entire symphony for you:

Of dancing ribbons of yellow and orange hues
Of the deep, profound murmurs of the earth
The whispers of the trees
that are carried with
the songs of the wind
and the birds in flight.

Flight---yes, you are flying.

Even starlight
accompanies your path
as you descend into the horizon.

The final note?
You beg to differ.

Rise!
Rise I say!
Rise with the sun, the eternal fire
of the world's glory,
burning on and spreading
wildly across your face
piercing your eyes,
and yes, piercing
into your soul.
It's breath
exhuming the shadows
that surround you.

You are born of light and color.

I do not wish
to remember you
during noon or night
but with daybreak
where you are alive, once again.

I hope you don't mind
I ordered ahead,
One
Slice
Please. And a glass of water.
I already chose that corner, too
My usual spot that's
Cozy, vacant, comforting
as always, I like to lift the plate
To touch my nose as I
Indulge in its rich, moist smell
That already makes me feel
I cheated.
I count the tines of my fork:
One, two, three, four, five -
It's cold
Would I like a cup of coffee?
No thanks, I'm waiting for someone.
My glass is empty,
And because the rain hasn't stopped
Windows and doors are being shut tight
To keep me from knowing
All but this in front of me.

I've paid for what I ordered
So I swallow every bite
A push down my throat is dry.

Hello, Silence. We meet again.

'Talk ***** to me,'
I whisper to you
As the day rubs against our skin.
We'd joke around about
how ripping our shirts would be ****, but never
got around to do it because
the shirts you wore were worth a million bucks.

Then again who knew you'd get worn out.

I breathe in the smell of the detergent you use
too quick that its paper sharp taste cuts me
except I don't bleed.

I patch up the silence between us with scraps
of cloth I found for tomorrow.
A scatter of little flaglets wave shamelessly;
they make fine napkins to wipe away soiled parts of a face.

'Out, ****** spot!'

I pull down a sleeve
I'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry;
Home Economics was never my best subject
I don't know how to sew
Back where we came from.

Let me give you a piece of advice:
What doesn't **** you makes you stronger.
Or makes you angry and jealous.

I read somewhere that you need to be careful
about whom you love because it changes how your brain works
...  what?

Hey, I'm just gonna hang around with ...
Yeah, it's a nickname.
I'll just let you know when I'm home.

'...Are we having this conversation again?
The name is _. But I chose to do it.'

'Look I'm sorry... tomorrow's a new day
and I was hoping to see you...'

That's what she said.

Did I tell you that you remind me of -
No really - you are...
No, YOU are!
No, you ARE!!!
... Of course that's something you won't do.

But I'd like to know your experience -
I mean, opinion on the matter.
This is a democracy, after all...

I've never felt this way before.

'Oh, did he say that really?
Tell me - how old is he again that
he knows so much?'

You're right. This is so high school.
But back then, I didn't know you.

So who are you?

Siren calling. Been there, done that. But were you on your way home?

Tonight our breaths
move the sea...toward the shore
...away from you ---  
warms, then cools...

A kiss or two?
from the strokes of seasons across her skin.

Tonight our breaths
are secrets revealed;
then captured, enraptured by the stars.
Be still, you say. We are being watched;
as I press closer to listen
Heartbeats not our own,
(to whom do we belong?)
murmurs deep within the earth,
resound like the fine grains of sand
in an hour glass.

Waves crash!
The salt begins to sting our eyes.
We've left them open, burning --
til the daylight dresses her with gold

All is fair and washed
away, except only ---
could we have lingered longer with the sea?

You
How does it feel
to be writing
the inside-out of you?

To be ripping the pages
of your book
and folding them
into shapes of origami?

To be squeezing out
the ink from those same pages
until you are left
with nothing but outlines
of the words that were
supposed to be.

Or worse---
nothing at all.
____ just ___ spaces.

Start from scratch.

How does it feel
to be able to read you?

To finish your sentences?
To decapitate your
petty attempts to
****** me
provoke me
destroy me?
To make you trip and fall
onewordaftertheother?
To fill in the spaces
of those outlines
of those words
that were supposed to be.

Or simply

CUT.                Y-O-U
                    O-F-F

And make you
sssssstttuuuuuutttteeeerrrr....

And leave you
In-between           these
                     (YOU)
                     lines

STUCK.

Start from scratch.

Are you not frightened
that my hands have
curiously
secretly
slipped into your soul?

To have them digging deep
as if they were immersed
into a bucket of grain
feeling each bit
distinctly cling
to your skin
hearing their awkward murmurs
slowly fade, fade away
as your fingers caress them?

And you drown---I drown
for a brief moment
in the arms of your soul.

How does it feel
to hold me close?

Close enough for you
to write the inside-out of me?

Start from scratch.

How does it feel
to start from scratch?