trembling fingers, palpitating heart, and the corners of my lips shake as i say hi to you. i fear my feelings are looking for an exit. i am terrified that they’ll show you how much i long for you.

i say "hi, how are you today?"
but i mean hi, i want to take a swim in your eyes, i want to devour your very soul, your hair looks so soft today, is this how your embrace feels? did you see the moon yesterday? it reminds me of you, you know. the fullness, the coldness, the light, the madness, the distance. i dreamt of you yesterday. you drew henna on my hand, and that gentle hold is all i crave right now.

i say "hey, by the way, i think you might like this book."
but i mean can i read it to you? can we lay on the grass on a brisk morning as i do so? or maybe i can read it to you on an evening instead, in a warm living room that smells of musk and tenderness?

i say "here's my copy, give it a read, i left some notes in it though"
but i mean maybe it's better that i can't read it to you. maybe it's better that you'd read it alone. i like that you'll carry pieces of me home.

i say "let me know what you think"
but i mean your voice soothes me. i want to take a calm stroll down your thoughts. i like the way your dark eyes twinkle when you make a witty remark.

i say "enough of you today. see you later"
but i mean time is a spiral, and i feel like i explored some of its folds with you before. i carry you with me everywhere i go nowadays. i'm not sure i like it, i'm positive i cant help it. i'm always both scared of and grateful for my feelings.

i say "salam"
i mean salam. i send it you as i’m driving home. i send it to you as i'm looking at the lake at night. i send it to you as i write this.

As I wake to a new day, a new me arises
Different yet the same, a fresh reset
Retaining those values, fundamental
In defining one's true character, absent
The previous outline of my whole.

Confusion takes hold, for now I am half
Like folded tracing paper, overlapping
Complex lines in gesture, ever moving
In an attempt to remember, who I was
Before peaceful sleep took me under.

Stubborn I stand tall, looking around
To my surroundings, searching for meaning
Amongst a newly minted world, glimpsing
A single picture, mirroring my sketch
Standing next to the only reason I wake.

...

Only your beauty can complete my art.

...

You, my heart.

She covers her body in art
Hoping one day someone will look at her
And think her beautiful

Trace my curves in charcoal,
Sketch my lines in lead,
Fill in all my shadows,
As I lie naked on this bed.
Warm my hues in pastels,
Draw in every part,
Adore me with your paint brush,
Turn my body into art.

A boy, sketching

         His friends, fellow neighbours, skinny dipping

This is not the first time,
      but what is indeed new are the imprints
                                  of streams, droplets;
                                        yelps, giggles;
                      the force of a tumbling body,
                                   or limbs on limbs,
    shivers and waves in his very young heart.

       He finds his nib forming strange contours,
               fingers tracing the imprints as much as his
                  eyes could picture,

          only to tear the paper, later,
             ripping out a flat, grimacing tangle of lines,
                   his friend, grotesque on canvas.

     Night beckons;
              his sketch, made anew, alive as
                     he lay within burgeoning wants
                           that he never wished
                                        before

I'll let go of this pencil
that continues to draw this
head filled with imagination

"behead me,"
and bring the endless ache of being
an insufficient being;
in this ideal world

'filled with feelings, pens & paint,'