I need you to walk away,
to forget about me, be happy.
I'll live with this pain each day
but I won't let it ever break me.
My love is my own mistake.
Don't be sad for me, please, forget me.
"Go back to him, now!" I ache...
"I'm in anguish, with you!" Be happy...
I need you to walk away.
I need you...

watch me make the same mistake twice.

placing one more finger on a fragile house of cards,
distinctly aware of the fall:
of the wind-swept,
                                                          blowing away,
                              lifting off the ground,              head in clouds,
                swirling,                              mystifying,
                                                                                        close to heaven
purgatory.

watch me pick the wrong god to worship, again.
offer Him the same gifts that were not enough the first time around
blindly hoping he'll acquire taste for it,
for me.
maybe, persistence is key.

maybe,
if i jam my square-shaped love into the round hole of his heart,
it will shift just enough to squeeze in there.
shall i cut some parts of myself out?

will i be enough then?

The sunlight winks from behind the umbrella of leaves and mangoes overhead. It tickles your cheekbones like the first, second, thirtieth good morning kiss. Your sandals are worn. A woven basket rests heavy on your hip, in your hands.

Your fingers, slender and worn by the earth, trace the contours of my face the way they search for meaning in a dictionary. Gravity. We inch closer. Have you always had a widow’s peak? Your hand finds it rightful place over my heart. I kiss you for the thirty-first time today. You taste of plantains and milk. You smell of sweat and the sun. My hand relishes in the traces of heat on your cheek.

One mango drops from your possession. Unripe, but soon to be opened up and worshipped as it is meant to be. Your fingers grasp the yellowing heart and press it against my lips. I rest against the trunk and sink my teeth into it. Liquid sunrise trickles down your wrist onto my blouse. The leaves create shadow puppets on the ground, the story of two young fools swaying in the shade of a tree.

I don’t want to whisper anymore,
nor wish for stolen glances
to be my messenger,
odd hours and pillow talks
on different beds miles away
have now become my misery.
The faucet of excuses
to meet you in person
and pet my pinings to sleep
has run itself dry.
I wish to say it aloud
for your heart to hear
and the universe to register.
I love you.
I love you,
and I am left with no will, nor patience
to not be with you.
To be around you
is no longer flattering,
for in the moon and musk
I see distances and measures
that pull at the chords of my longing
and render me a sweet wailing
in its own wake.
I want to come home now,
make my bed with you
keep the phone aside and hold you.
I want my emptiness filled
with your touch
and find my closure  
in the heaves of your breathing.
Take me in
and leave me in no doubt,
for I would live a moment with you
than a lifetime without.

A broken leg, open fracture -
All the pain like a price for rapture.
The sweetness festered, feverish, ill,
After the feast, came the bill.
Just like that, heartbreak followed,
Once giddy love left black and hollowed.
.
But that was months ago, or years,
No fresh cut in my flesh sears.
Time moved in to mend the break,
Agony now dulled to ache.
A bone healed the wrong way, free,
Crooked branch of a poison tree.
And so it hurts, albeit less,
My sin that I cannot confess.
Like an old wound numbly stings,
When weather changes, and rain brings.
.
It's a limping leg, it is.
But free of teeth, of a bite that's his.
It's functional, it does it's job,
Despite the faint random throb.
Will it ever heal? Be right?
I don't know. I hope. It might.
But I never had such a sore -
I'd never been in love before.
.

It's divinely inscribed that loving means patience
and kindness, honesty, humility, and hope:
Most things that are lacking in my personnel essence,
a setback tying me down like a rope.
Now the challenge arises, to tread a new pace.
Take the road less traveled, unlearn what I knew.
As for weakness written well all over my face,
I'm not only hopeful, I'm horrified too.
To watch things unfold to the slow beat of my heart,
see things as they are instead of how it might be;
and though I am eager to see the next part,
I revel in the unrushed, gentle moments of happy.
Because good things come to all those who wait;
I know that one day, it will surely be great.

your lipstick lingering on my coat like wine, like blood. the lights shine and the music stops and there is the epiphany, your figure on the floor, on the road, in my closet. on the bed. on my bed. your hair like a prayer, your eyes whisper things that make the sky turn crimson.
your hair, draw a map, a pattern of a faraway land. on the sheets. between the sheets. your face like a remembrance. your kisses are slow-paced. and it rises and rises and rises like fire under the ash. im burning. i dont mind. you're all I see. the way you laugh and make the wind shiver in jealousy. the way you see pain as beauty. and if you watch the moon I'll watch over you. if you fly I'll go with you. to the stars. right through the sun.