Losing fragments of your essence— those fresh nicks from a heavy
blade on your hair; each strand carries the legacy of generations,
a tale waiting to be shared with your heirs. Ears dulled by the
overwhelming tide of emotions, as the ocean of your tears are
divided for the two days you permit yourself to weep. There’s a
Moses in your gaze, appearing on weekends when the burdens
of the week leave you feeling so weak.

Knees trembling under the weight of an unyielding deception—
striving to connect to an acceptable truth; through a faith that has
morphed like a password to someone’s compromised Wi-Fi.
Choked by the very words you struggle to articulate; those
emotions blur the line between reality and forgetfulness.

Tonight, you ventured out to dance with your own spirit—both
hands firmly on yourself; yet the crowd feels a bit too touchy,
with those who aspire to be G.O.A.Ts You turn to them and say,
“Please keep your kids in your pants.”

Your hair was shorter than the breath it takes to articulate your
thoughts, as you begin to feel like a transparent shard of glass: a ghostly
figure they see through. You entered this multitude hoping to remain
single, but to at least mingle with kindred souls who endure every hit
life throws their way, encapsulated in a brief collection of life’s greatest
hits from a solo artist’s single. We all crave that connection with people.

What does it truly mean to call someone a friend? Is there an invisible gauge by which we measure the depths of connection, or is friendship a fluid construct—something we shape and redefine in our own way, moment by moment?

Is friendship born from effortless communication, where words flow freely across the mundane and the profound? Do friends gather not only to share joy but to etch memories into the fabric of their lives? Is a friend the one who sits with us in silence, holding space for our darkest hours? Or are these gestures sometimes veiled in self-interest, wrapped in expectations we never consented to?

Is friendship a quiet agreement, a mutual understanding that transcends spoken terms? To be a friend, must one care deeply and love without restraint? Or are we merely passing ships, with one of us casting anchor while the other drifts away—still bound by the word acquaintance, though our hearts tell different stories?


— Sincerely, Boris

let them love you this way:

with long drives to float away destinations
with the sole purpose of finding a beach
that feels right underfoot.

with car park crying
and laughing and debriefs
that echo long into the night.

with celebratory drinks
and lib feeds
and sometimes the odd fancy dinner.

with mid week check ins and soup left on door steps
messages of poems and songs that make them think of you
(i need you to know that you deserve to be thought of)

with hands soaked wet
by dishes you didn’t want to wash
and with blankets pulled up to chins.

let them love you this way.  
softly and in all the ways that count.
all they ways you haven’t been loved before.

It's a good time
Hanging with animals,
Because there is no social pressure.
They merely love to live,
That is their pleasure.
There are no missed interpretations,
No alternate agendas;
Alive at nature's leisure

When the sun goes down
And the Moon is high
The padding of feet can be heard
Along we with a small scratch at my door
It would go unheard if I did not know to listen for it

In the dead of the night
A black, starless night
No other sounds are being made
Except for the croaking of frogs
Not yet the chirping of birds

He comes to my bedroom door
And expects to be let in
So I leave the warm embrace of my bed
And let him in so he can be a good friend

Tears streak down my face
Because of the sadness my body holds
I reach down and embrace him in my arms
His body warms mine with his soft fur and beating heart

Together we make our way back to the bed

you don a guise, a shield from wind and sun,
and march across the sand toward the dawn

through valleys and over peaks, with no end in sight.
the journey is lonely, and your heart grows cold

until two cloaked figures happen by,
jumping and gliding to a somber song

the music’s beauty is incomprehensible –
sung with an unknown tongue

but still, you travel with newfound friends,
two strangers in a strange and endless land,
counting the beads of sand that slip away,
while pondering the meaning of this quest.

even after the travellers depart
you carry on, up to the mountain’s peak,
and from the top, you see the world anew,
the desert small, the music all around.

and finally, you understand their song,
the symphony of the journey: life, and love

Come to me
because I need you
I need your touch,
your care,
your support.
Speak to me in soft tones.
Tell me it will all be okay
in the end.
Reassure me
that I am okay,
that I will last,
prevail,
be whole and safe.
That my life is not a mess,
that I am doing well -
just that this is my path right now.
Tell me that it will not always be this hard,
that I will be happy again
when it is all over
or sooner even.
Touch me
Let me feel your love
Your heart
Your care and nurture
Your love.

Such loneliness permeates my days,
No one seems to notice I exist;
I'm as transparent as the sun's first rays
Intermingling with the morning mist

I'm as obscure as a grain of sand
Clinging to the ocean's lonely shore;
Should a wild wind fling me to some strange land,
Who would notice that I'm here no more?

Has my frame decayed and turned to dust
And my restless spirit unaware
That I'm just a ghost tumbling in a gust
Of the pitiful wind of despair?

Too long I've haunted this lonely sphere
Where it seems no one's aware of me;
Let there be a soft whispering in my ear:
"Claim your peace, dear soul, you've been set free"

And how eager I'd be to depart
From this cruel world I've come to deplore!
Yet, if love would lay its hands on my heart . . .
I'd consider staying a few years more