With arms wide open
and with a mind open wide
I would too open
my body to you; yet you
remain unopened,
thus, for you, nothing more but
my veins are left to open.

You said at once that
this kind of love poetry
does not resonate
with you yet still, you see, from
a distance, I keep
imaging to kiss upon
your weary eyelids
again, for a moment, it
gives me back my loss:
my sea of tranquility,
my moonbeam of inner peace.

On the sky's hummock
she is like a ziggurat;
a gardener of

stars who takes care of
their shining watching over
their sparkling glimpses.

My only hope that
maybe she intend to look
after our little

and unfortunate
star too. The dim one under
whom our love was born to beam.

My neon-hearted one,
vibrating throbs shining through
the soul-soaked night. It

is an endless ride
on this forlorn, pebble-skinned
autobahn; I still

can feel you out there.
Your heartstrings are like distant,
radio waves; such

beautiful white noise
attached to the senses of
mine anchoring me

into a godspeed
velocity just to safe
and sound; here and now reach you.

And I've become the
victim of my own hybris.
I was ...careless and

proud when I thought you
are harmless to me. Now I
am trying to

bribe Fate itself to
give me back my wasted years;
the years I wasted on you.

As you became out
of control, out of touch,
out of sight, out of

your own depth at last
I learned that altering
for hinky pathways

will impede me from
knowing a higher self; a
journey toward the within.

My heart is about
to leave, ready to ascend
then hover away

on the dusked wings of
her before my woe-hardened
rib cage could shatter

her. An exodus
of the chosen ****** is her
new purpose to find

peace in the embrace,
the horizon's snowy clouds.
I would go after

her, but I'm rooted
here; this mandrake soil does not
let me depart, so

I let her set sail
and ask to be the very
sight of me; just to

watch over you while
you're about to blaze the new
path... From here, her bird's-eye view.

Passing through the jade
green understory of yours,
discovering your

forest-like body;
betwixt and between at last
I found my abditory.

Being ancient but
perky I am not here
for you to bond my

strength, to lock me like
a djinn into a bottle
for making a wish

as and when you wish
but to guide your sailboat through
wild, choppy waters,

just to play with your
hair, to cool the fever and
kiss the tearful face of yours.

Yesterday an old,
dusty notebook appeared on
my desk which I have

never thought to read
or even open again.
It was the book of

days filled with your words;
heart shards of mine which I kept
for another life;

for another me.
But now on I cannot tear
apart my gaze from

its pages for I yearn
to morph into one with your
own vowels and consonants.