Oh my rose in bell jar! From time to time I watch you from afar, Keeping you in my peripheral vision avoiding the precision to acknowledge your decaying red;
But I notice You've become more lively in this unbearable gray time, Tell me is it your favourite crime to mock my remaining solitude? Isn't suggesting doubtful hope to a dying person start of a cruel dispute?
Ah! I've known that cruelty you're trying so hard to resurrect, You were the witness once And You know he was the only one That ever charming prince on a white horse Seemed like a promising escape from my fancy confinement, eh?
With a swooning smile he bought my hospitality And I fell in hope, He claimed he had never seen such a beauty Oh I wish I told him then this beauty will last till her awaited twenty first; Forbidden to leave the cage doomed with a witch's rage;
That could've spared me from this additional catastrophe of heartbreak;
Let me continue;
Soon shy smiles and secret glances bloomed into hearty laughs and sensual dances And I had never felt more beautiful in anyone's presence;
My gloomy fort now welcomed these festive winds And I giddily waited for my blossoming spring ;
But somebody should've told me that nothing feels bitter than the failed exchange of hearts ;
You see, I gave him colours but with that he painted another visage from his past, Love rekindled in his heart and it was me left with burns and scars;
But instead of blood there were sparkles that kept my vision lighted and filled my imaginary with scenes from dreamy novels; And I got addicted these mocking hopes again;
So, my dear rose in bell jar! Tell me are these imaginations bewitching you too? Are you blushing or are you angry? You're being too red to give me a clue;
was there ever a time that i didn't love you? i always have: in the kisses neatly lined down my shoulders, to where your fingers dug and buried their bones. in the epilogue: an afterthought at the bus stop where i recede and float with the rest of your memories: a lonely ghost that follows you home — reaches for your hand, traces the apollo line,
then lets go.
was there ever a time that i didn't love you? i always have: in microdoses of longing on rose gold floors. in october's sunglow, dripping away like melting flames — burning, but not enough to numb. in the doleful chatters of the dusk. in the darkness, we are not lovers — we are merely the envy of poems, the ones i couldn't write several selves ago — but all of them have loved you one way or another, this i confess. distorted and quiet. desperate and clear.
in all forms remanent. in all forms alive in all forms, yours.
was there a time i didn't love you? i guess i always have.
I never write love poems. I think it's because I'm afraid to
open up & feel so vulnerable. I'd have to look inside my heart, to write something beautiful, intimate, and heartfelt. I'd have to embrace the warmth, and reflect on the lingering traces, of the hand once in mine. The love that once had it's time.
I'm afraid to confront those feelings. I'm afraid to commit to love, even if it's the everlasting type, where two stars collide, in the afterlife, like they did milleniums before.
I've been hurt so deeply. In ways I haven't felt before. I'm not sure I can take it anymore.
But I dream of not being afraid of love. One day, I'll write love poems. I'll find the person worth writing lines, and stanzas about. One that makes me forget we're in a drought.
Our eyes smiling at each other As we hold eachother We smile at each Holding hands I rub my hand on your Buddha belly As if it were a magic lamp We finally kiss Not just dominate and submissive But as also Lovers I can see the same pain in your eyes the Pain I dealt with all my life As we make love Kiss me you say and we share a Final kiss for the night Tasting teachothers desire In our breath It’s sweet like Cake Show me how to love In different ways That I did not know