In life, I have come across people
who always felt like home to me.
It’s a wonderful feeling –
to have someone like that.
That is why it aches
to think of homes
I renounced
when I
left.

When I caught the sunset yesterday
I thought of you,
Smiling at the smeared horizon,
How magnificently you would wear its hues.

You came to mind when it rained
On Tuesday, as I sprinted to take shelter
Under the awning of a flower shop.

Winter is long gone, and yet
Ever morning, I wake up to a cold bed.
Residues of hungry dreams remain
Etched on my skin.

Hot coffee, warm cinnamon rolls,
Even the smell of fresh laundry
Rouses a repressed memory –
Everything brings me back to you.

Fresh dough, sauce, and melted cheese,
plus wholesome veggies,
add tender succulent meat,
baked to perfection.
Breathe it in before
you dig in.
Drool!

Feed me a story –
I feel hollow
listening to the wind
work itself to a storm.

While we wait for the rain,
spin me one of your tales;
something wholesome,
with sweetness that will linger.

Soothing clichés
to slake my restive mind.
Although your voice is solace enough.

I have so much to say to you
but I haven’t yet 
mastered the skill
to undress my convoluted thoughts
to their bare essence.

So tonight,
under the swollen sky,
talk to me
about anything,
and everything –
keep me company.

i only wanted to be quiet for a bit
   my words had become empty of meaning
  by embracing silence i thought i could
   try to get in touch with what i was feeling

  why the emptiness grew deeper roots
   i never really understood the reason
  my heart fell still, my blood ran cold
   i felt more lost with each passing season

Silky vanilla custard
(fluffier than clouds)
sweetened ever so slightly,
topped with wafer-thin
layer of hot, crisp
caramel.
Crack!

Puppy videos on Instagram,
snarky relatable memes,
pretty pictures pinned to my board,
filtered funny tweets.

Bashful poetry and uplifting words,
whispering truths to the cosmos,
a few shows, binge-watched,
peppy dance routines,
movies, music, art,
time-consuming scrawlings.

These are some
weapons in my arsenal,
my anti-venom
against the toxic approach
of tedious,
stifling
boredom.

The sounds of morning
roused me from a deep slumber.
The clouds grew tumid.

Songbirds of the day
kept me company and we
held the rain at bay.

A gentle twilight
broke the slow afternoon’s back;
a drizzle followed.

The sky wept last night;
the storm faded in hiccups.
Now the earth is dry.