Let’s strum a song on the acoustic kiss of your lips,  
and I’ll feign mastery of every chord; yet when it comes
to the lyrics, I find myself adrift, missing most of the words.  
Let’s chance the spark of romance, with our hearts poised,  
eager to sway in a dance.  

As your tears start to hit the floor,
pouring your essence into my embrace—I feel love’s warmth  
seeping from your very pores. Yet, you remain unfazed,  
to not bat an eye- swinging at my heart with the allure
of our candid exchanges, swinging wide like church doors.  

From a bell that resonates above my thoughts, the sound
of your name echoes in my mind— a melody played with
the ease of a Sunday morning, harmonies wrapped in sacred notes.
We are the embodiment of the perfect love songs we’ve shared,
living each moment as Tomorrow’s notes.

Or be it so- I was lost in your eyes grand gardens
taking done a couple fieldnotes; be it a couple ideas
of me imagining ourselves as couple of old love notes

Being cherished love letters, timeless and tender
under the glow of city lights, even when your lips
appear slightly troubled, envious of the brilliance that
surrounds you

I’ve come to take note of my love phases, needing to
be rephrased- finding a new means of expressing my
feelings to someone so new in my life

Sweetheart, let your heart be an open book, and I will
be the unique tale that unfolds just for you, revealing
every chapter of my essence.

Nakedly bottled.
Capturing bursting seasons
here and now.

Life, delicate in its notes,  
the top notes,
lithe as youth,
citrus and bloom,  
ever briefly,
recondite pleasure,
a suppliance of time
a rush that fades away.  

Heart notes,
the flesh of our days, unfold—  
warm spices, florals, deeper and continues to exude as winter winds careless breath.

In the middle years, the scent sits and blares and mellows—a steady pulse of sandalwood and musk.  

Sultry as the scent may have lingered,
flirtatious colors in the breeze’s hair
the base notes come,
the earthier tones,  
amber and resin,
heavier on the air,  
decays a final wisp
until faint on the skin.

A memory is born.

Maybe my poems
have fallen on deaf ears
to a point
where
they lost
their
voice

the tribute to
mankind is that war
has not defeated us

basemented   this liminal vivarium of cool moulded plastic
             with mirrors standing in for windows
and a ring of branded restaurants taking refuge at the edges
    all familiar     no surprises
the staff set up
         for the consumers morning
                      of slack mastication
      (Local chain, national, international)
  
the old-timers   glomming into clump
    benign zombies
an arrangement of fellas with dissolving jaws
  cudding over mammary notions
       untailored in sacky pallid sultana skins
    reform in a mumble
doing snailish pinball movements
            crossing and recrossing floors
         cleanly tiled for biohazard accidents
               salivating about the savoury soft foods to come

the restaurants rattle-shake-raise their security blinds

also noted
a mixed bag of people projecting
      into their smooth glowing slablets
    making out like worldly fools

also present
cropped and groomed toy security
      peering between the fronds of plastic foliage

offscreen
public bathrooms   the first struggling **** of the day

also present
a bench of  youngsters in bright blue screen matching pjs
  the four employees of sanitation
      drumming up for the shift

see also
vague happy lady in a  garish sarong
importing her holiday religion