It must sound novel enough to uplift you
but familiar enough to be nostalgic.
So that you feel as though you are Home...
but ready to believe in love again.

I become motionless when I look at your Azure –grave mystical eyes
My love I don’t know how to swim.
I am an Illiterate, love makes me so
You the mystic lady,
Taught me how to deceive this deceitful world without deceiving…
Don’t trust lady, separation is the only solution
When everything fails Death receives the admiration…….

There's something about talking until you fall asleep and your arm going numb, but she's too beautiful for you to move it so you deal with the bitter pain of pins and needles, and stroke her hair and kiss her head until she wakes up a little bit after her dream, half asleep, eyes barely open, but just enough for you to move your arm, and a small smile crosses her lips as she recognizes you and you hug her and tell her goodnight. And the morning she looks at you with those fresh new eyes and you know she doesn’t remember that one small moment from the night before, the one small moment you’ll be holding with you forever, flashing through your mind when weeks later she tells you it’s over, that you should take some time alone and that you’ll never have her fall asleep on you again, and you just want to scream “I loved you, I cared for you. I let you sleep on my arm when no one else would, through the hell of pins and needles, and I didn’t even wake you. That’s emotion, that’s devotion!”

But you don’t, because you know she wouldn’t listen anyway, telling you to quiet your writer brain, she doesn’t have time for it today. So she’ll close the door and walk back to her chair returning to the work she was doing before you came to visit, knowing in comfort that she’ll have the entire bed to herself tonight, and you’ll walk home feeling un-whole, alone, like a piece of you will forever be left in Prince 302.

And you’ll fall asleep wishing to suffer the waking pains of pins and needles from a brown haired beauty again. And you'll awake knowing your arm is in a better place.

But your heart is a different story altogether.

Imaging you when you were a school girl
Mini- sarong, small white shirt
A bag jam-packed with books hanging on your shoulder
Tiara in head, and two queues like two small dark snake
And those long eye petals highlighted with collyrium
Your two sapphires fluctuating in deep Blue Ocean
Impish humming birds were humming with their assiduous tongue,
to get your attention.
Let the Almighty curse their tongue was your supplication
Walking in two fickleness legs, licking an Ice- cream
Bewilderingly, you became my “A Midsummer night’s dream”.
Each second I encounter you in my Ruya
For years you are my Ruya.

I crafted a painting to
hang on that wall of yours

Someday you'll take it down
and think of me

The other day, I accidentally
spilled moonlight on the shadows
where you used to sleep.
I almost cleaned it up
until I realized it didn’t matter anymore.

I told the clouds they were not
welcome to shed tears
over your side of the bed,
that the rain had to drown me too.

I asked the sunset if
it ever missed the sun,
if vermillion meant farewell,
if the dusky purples hurt
when they were pressed,
if the coming darkness
felt as natural and as effortless
as it looked.

And when the night finally fell
in black oblivion
I found the light you left
in the corners of the room,
under the pillow,
in the spaces between my fingers.
I found it everywhere in the darkness
and nowhere in the daylight
and I hate you for that –

Which is why I started
making room for the moon in my bed
even though he bleaches the sheets.
And I let the clouds lay down their burden
gently, gently over your pillow
in place of my own.
I stopped asking the sunset questions
that I couldn’t answer
and started digging my hands
into the gracefulness of the sky and the ocean and
everything in between.

The stars stare down from the heavens,
casting their judgmental glares
The heat of the night clings to my shirt,
making a drop of sweat,
send shivers down my spine.
An inhale of breath,
still sweet with summers smells,
Lights flicker in the distance.
Cities,
Homes,
Cars,
Wandering down the rocky path,
Sitting like we used to...
Memories strike with sudden vividness,
another night,
shared with her,
still smelling of summer,
hands wound tightly together,
lips sharing a soft touch.
Finding a place in the world,
even for a few minutes...
Trying to remember the beginning,
Avoid the ending...
Broken hearts,
Losing a girl,
Losing a friend,
Someone who understands...

Not feeling loss,
just lost.

They smoke, somber around us
    cooking phrases in our daily newspaper

dancers in their own right

     While I'm just trying to figure out how to
             breathe you in long enough that
                   I can float forever when you're gone

Its Torture.
The cruel
painless kind.
Torture,
like watching her
from the shadows
as she  
Loves her new Lover
while you're
still so alone.
Within my
mind Ive said
a word then
spelled out
in ryhm.
It sounds so perfect
within my
mind,my quivering lips
mouth the
word in silence.
Im afraid to try,
listen to my struggle
and you shall see
why it
is I hardly
speak.
Its the stammer,
the god given
gift which has
held my
opinions hostage.
Prevented me from
approaching her
and telling her
what she secretly
longed
to hear.
Forced me at times
to remain silent
when there was
so much more I
had to say.
This stammer
provides
cruel children
reason enough to be
even crueler.
I speak around certain
words and
communicate
more with the hands.
Kind souls
finish sentences
for me as I fight
for my voice.
Never  knowing that
their attempt
at being helpful
only drives this silent
knife even deeper.
This Stammer has
barricaded what
I need to say
somewhere
within that dead
and maimed space
between
my mind and
my speach.
I'm tunneling my
way out of this
self contained  
prison.
Word by
written word .
Im slowly
finding
a way for
this silent
and crippled
voice
to finally
be heard.