Sometimes we meet people//

And their laugh seems to bring a sort of lightness into your brief universe//

And when they smile the sun seems to be jealous due to the vibrance of this very act//

And the breeze envies the gracefulness of this persons movement//

And when they speak the words flow out of their mouths as airy as clouds seem to be effortlessly floating in the above//

Sometimes we meet people who cause our thoughts to rumble and they confuse our emotions//

Sometimes we meet people who bring us absolute and utter bliss//

Sometimes we meet people who influence us to to think and feel all sorts paranormal things//

My pulse quickens when I descend those stairs,
and when I reach the bottom and look to the place
where we used to lay, where you slept so many times,
I wonder if it's called a heartbeat because of the bruises
I feel forming on the inside of my ribcage
from how hard my heart thuds.

I spent nine hours awake in bed yesterday,
hungover,
or is the word overhang?
Thoughts of you looming overhead,
whether or not I'll ever kiss you again.
You see your scent has stained my clothing,
my couch, my bed,
and although it's now subtle,
I still smell it from time to time and I mostly smile.
Yet I start feeling unsettled because I know not what we are,
old friends in love?
Or should I call you my ex?
You held me last week,
for the first time in over a month,
and there were no hard feelings.
No feelings except love and confusion.

I'm confused.

You got drunk the other night and messaged me,
telling me you missed me.
I thought I'd made it obvious that I miss you too,
your fingers tracing my curves in your bed on those late winter nights,
the way your lips molded with mine,
proving that maybe I am an artist,
because never before was I part of such a beautiful piece of work.
Work, because it was not easy,
but no masterpiece is.
It's late nights of thinking, frustration,
and sometimes, no sleep at all.
It's compromise,
it's accepting the faults and moving past them,
learning to embrace them.

Though when it's finally over,
you can't help but think of how breathtaking it is.

The problem is, our canvas was massive--
we were far from filling its empty spaces.

I can't help but hope that as we are,
completely aware we love each other,
still too far in to stop loving each other now,
that maybe,
we will pick up the paintbrushes
and finish this masterpiece.

Maybe my ribs will get some rest
from the beating they've undergone,
maybe we can finally earn some repose,
together.

Weak static creates an uncomfortable tautness in the air.
A sound emitted from the screen is heavy, weighing.
Muted light grips to ions which imperceptibly moss over the dusty glass monitor.  
A world within a dish.  
Slapdash pixilation.
Fragments—just fractions, part in snaps.
No image takes form in the storm of digitalized points, indistinctive refrain is absently composed.
The apartment, thick with a cloudy green hue.
Stripped, pink shoulders, a flush which spreads in a subtle frenzy—
Bleeds across an exposed chest.  
Vulnerable core.  
Noticeably contracting, beating the high concentration of life from one source
Into branched capillaries.
Into plush, coy lips—
Hush.
Sinews tear, a dark liquid pools, liberated from perforations.  
Flowing from the source and staining porcelain teeth.
Indulgence.
The innate capability to devour proves true outside feasting.  
Femininity of unbridled ******* and echoing amusement,
Eternalized.
Cataplexies pressed and dried upon blank, white pages which prove difficult to turn—
only facilitated by the hand of time.
A vast expanse of briny depths outstretches further than what’s perceivable.
Waves rock a feeble coo which escapes from child’s lips at the spectacle of a mother.
*Cri de Coeur

We both created
such a beautiful mess.
We were like a watercolor painting,
shades of reds and blues
and purples and greens
splattered on a blank canvas.

Wielding one balance before me:
Divine intent, no tool for an evil genius
Levied ‘gainst one jar wrought of glass,
Within fine grains of coal.
My sins may weigh to graphite
Fitting, for no blanket of Heaven
Suits my restlessness.
Cast me on parchment
Where I spell out the pain
Of never capturing truth—no human may.
Enigma, Aestheticus, vibrant, complete
Finished, or full. No, I utter to Venus
A Pygmalion word to know
All as art and beauty so well
As to paint it carnally.
Give me that which is love made manifest
On lithe little toes, walks her
Which, parsed out selectively  
Is revealed in awesome moment, eternal
Subjectivity. Either she steps from a canvas
Strides from a dream, I awaited it, organic
To come into being, to escape my grasp
And make useless poetry.

I've always been a small child
who likes to draw and play with toys
and you, you've got glitter in your veins
and I've always been attracted to shiny things.
So you caught my attention from the very beginning
and I, I who am easily distracted, became hooked
on the colors in your soul.

With the visage of the blue monster,
I’ve cuddled that identity
And smudged it to myself.

This chap in ashen nature,
Has parked himself –
Resting in the right plane.
I was gazing at him,
That look he furnished
Made me probing.

“I have mine stained,”
On my trend, his eyes were fixed;
And there in the chair’s apex,
His hands were zipped.
Only just lately,
I grasp the gist of those words,
Yes, he was pointing to my shirt!
“Oh..” I retorted
And it was a late reaction!
That atmosphere has staggered me!

Someone called his name,
He countered by flights of stroll;
Alright, so that’s the first chitchat!

It was drizzling outside,
I opened my umbrella and stride.
I spotted him,
Him, yes, him! Oh, it’s him!
He became the frontage of that scenery;
With his umbrella on,
I ask over something –
To which I don’t remember at all!

Seeing him made me in high spirit,
There’s an up aura within me,
Oh, again and again.

To that chemise,
I extend my gratitude;
For it was the start of something so new!
To see him once more,
How I wish.. I just wish..

(7/28/13 @xirlleelang)

Not an amulet, an off white vertebrae; bone.
Brass wire, a loop at one end.
It bends as to make sure this will fit.

A gauge that measures mesmerization,
And we both must get along, but
Not because we're not tough enough:
Most of us aren't soft right yet.

So many stiffs, folly after folly.
The whole carful of loose cadavers,
Dangling, their feet hang with wet snow
And carnage,

Not even musk deer pop up,
They've all gone. Roosting in a parabol,
With X's sprayed to their groins.
Burning pop couples

Doing it like laboratory mice. Capybaras
Hiss, my own burnt blood is also
Flocculating.

Turn the cup upside down and
See the fire's balmy lachrymal opaque
Moss while it does not drip.

This is the story of man you asked me about;
Devoid of a muzzle, fur onto his chest; coarse
Hair in a garland.

It is the God of a tool that buzzes into the night.
A plateau for this most sensible study.
We feel another coming.

And when you awoke, your larval tongue
My eye mush, a song of verse and melancholy.
This half list of greatness, a tally we both wish to see.