so i will lay on your feet a heap of the nightfalls we mangled. i will pick you a handful of hibiscus and cigarette butts left rotting in hotel beds. i will brew and end storms until your eyes are all that's left. i will leave the loneliest love notes and patched up apologies on every curve, every arch of your spine, until you become a book of the musings i cannot hope write. i will cut my chest open and unbridle the black holes i have tamed — darling, i will let them devour all the galaxies but us, until you become the very sun and i, the dull glow of the moon's unlit side.

and you'll know that the vile truth is, i don't know how to love you without getting my heart broken.

Tell a little girl that her coily hair is beautiful when all of her playmates think otherwise. Marvel at a little boy’s drawings when everyone else he shows them to is too busy to spare a glance. Compliment someone’s floral dress in the subway; compliment someone’s smile, someone’s art, someone’s cooking, someone’s gumamela flowers soup they made especially for you. Thank someone for the songs they introduced, for the songs that now have become your shower jams and lullabies. Tell someone that you think they’re amazing and smart, especially if they don’t think so of themselves.

In a world where everyone looks past a street singer and ignores the old man painting sunsets in a park, be that someone who isn’t afraid to tell people about the beautiful things in them. Be that someone who isn’t afraid to be soft to others. Be that someone who isn’t afraid to be kind.

I want my love to remind you of the first stars you see during the nightfall, of the movie soundtracks you sing under the shower, of the words from a book you can’t put down, of the scenes you remember from a half-forgotten dream.

I want my love to remind of you the first sunrise we saw together from my bed, of the coffee blend that made you realize you loved coffee, and of riding buses during sunsets, and of the first flowers that came right from your soul.

I want my love to remind you that despite its harshness and sadness, there is something kind and soft and gentle in this world, darling — and that you can call it home.

death by burning knows no era
and my demons have long
set me on fire.

i feel like a witch burning at the stake —
burning and screaming for too long now,
but give it time and maybe
even my nerves can learn to be numb,
even the lick of flames can grow cold;

and maybe even the ashes can feel like home.

I will use the water
In your bowl
Lighting a fire in a cave far away
Flower your soil
Make it a garden of bouquets
Of petunias and water lilies bright as the dark lakes
In some functional world
Where we can be together
On the rivers,
By lake shores
There are plenty of chores
That water bowl is empty
As the heartbreaks are plenty
There are no chances of surviving in this
Fine, the old town of wars and running soldiers
That's the title of my next *** tape
As the wishes for borrowing instances from a stranger's eyes
And there is no choice of friendliness in the eyes of comeliness

Through clusters of thoughts of you..
Star memories roll on shadow plains true..
Your light waves link to my very essence..
As I am connected in soul network to your presence..

Into the expanse of thoughts of you..
Endless moments of smiles and virtues..
Constellations inside of your eyes..
Moments of forever written in the sky..

You glance to me in streak of light..
Passing by my stars in this dream lit night..
My eyes absorb every bit of your shine..
Under this heavens vault dream sky of mine..