Above the horizon
A canopy      
          So dark
Words cannot separate

Even when in
      Negative image

The single full stop
                              Of a moon
             Gives nothing away

Magazines strewn amongst,                                                         ­                         
                                       ­                                                                 ­            
mis-matched coffee cups,                                                            ­          
                                                                ­                                                  
white rings on the tabletops,                                                       ­                                 
                                                                ­                                                      
We are just getting
up                                                               ­                                             
                   ­                                                                 ­                                  
You yawn & look at me,                                                              ­                  
                                              ­                                                                 ­                making your way, groggily,                                                        ­                        
                                        ­                                                                 ­         
rub your eyes sleepily                                                         ­                   
                                                                ­                                                       
  as we exchange, ''good
  morning ''                                                               ­         
                                                                ­                                                
Hair sticking up in the air,                                                             ­           
                                                                ­                                              
neither one really cares                                                            ­              
                                                  ­                                                           
 Noisily pulling out a
  chair,                                                        ­                  
                                              ­                                                                 ­ 
both of us, with feet
bare                                                             ­                 
                                               ­                                                                
Coffee smells
permeate,                                                        ­                        
                                                                ­                                                    
as it drips &
percolates,                                                      ­                                    
                            ­                                                                 ­             
begging us to take a
taste                                                            ­                      
                                                                ­                                               
  Aren't Sunday mornings great?

Flying through the abyss,
Nothing but darkness.
Everything wilted—
Not even eyes glow with fondness.

A dark hue in the air,
An aroma thick as musk.
This odyssey has left me stuck—
In thought, in place.

This land where even stars don’t fall,
The moon swallowed by a thought long gone.
These nights where no light is found,
Where heartbeats are not meant—
Is where I’m most content.
—s

cigarettes after *** playing in my ears
I look up
it's cloudy
I lose my footing
and smile to myself

it's warm again

there’s a clear distinction between getting what you want
and wanting more than what you can get, she says,
kneeling in front of a piping hot kettle and a small bowl
accompanied by a humorously small bamboo whisk.

Bug-Eye looks at me. the meaning of a sentence is lost in the hexes of her wings, her spindly thin abdomen, the way her fragile limbs twitch.

she tries to smile. she doesn’t. i turn to the murky pool in front of me, losing myself in the way the petals relax on such a delicate surface. the air is thick with heat. i collect more than enough sweat upon my forehead.

you need not ask for more than what you have. nor ask for less than what you deserve.
but why? my reply lingered between us like an afterthought.
why ask when you could have more? the clink of china, the unsteady stirring irritates me with her ungraceful, jerking movements. Bug-Eye relaxes. silence. the grove is clear.

she turns the cup in her hands, once, twice, thrice; her spindly fingers tracing the grooves of a world not yet explored. her eyes watch me closely. all five hundred of them. i turn away
to watch how the koi fish do not swim through the water, but
become stagnant in a place the water feels best.
we kneel on the grass, sipping the green tea as quietly as one can. that is all i am left with.

perhaps this is the reason why i do not ask for more;
nor deserve any less, because
we simply are given with all that we need.

I think it is a good day
I feel okay, and that’s all
I feel, no sense of greatness
Nor self-hatred, no free-fall.

I look into the mirror
No fear, just looking as I
Realize that I have acne
But it’s me and I feel fine.

Right now, I am just okay
But one day, I will appear
From silk and I will be her
From those words, so far but near.

January 30, 2025

I will write today. I will write about something totally abstract, but the knots will untangle and form a photo of you. I will try to ignore you, I will try to not write about you, but today, I will fail.

September 28, 2033

I will have forgotten about you for many years, and on this day, when I go to write a grocery list, your name will flow out of my pen. I feel like a fire when I think of you.

June 22, 2056

I will remember you today, and I will be okay with it. I will think about you with a smile on my face, and I will be content.

June 16, 2091

Today is the day I will die, and when seven seconds of my happiest moments are flashing through my mind, I will not see you once, and I will perish with a smile.

Tucked under watch of a recent town,
Nourishing raindrops trickle down,
Steady on, a boy works the land,
For none here would eat, 'cept by his hand,
Through the night and on to the morn,
He works alone as a new day is born,
Digging, raking, and sowing,
Soon labor's fruits are growing,
Dread spring flood or autumn gale,
He tends the earth in heat or hail,
To find to reap, the sweetest feat,
To give others, his crop to eat.

Joy, it caught me content,
Hopping, smiling.
Overflowing emotion,
Moved,
Restless,
Thoughtful,
Full,
Happy,
Truly, if only for a moment.
I wish it could last,
And perpetuate itself
Consistently,
Continuously.
But, content with the present,
I hold, marked consistently,
A memory present in the future,
A certain present.