It is day one
and I am alone in a hollow shell
with you,
in the dark
and our breathing turns
into short bursts of longing.

I let my fingers trace the god I found
shaped like you
and our eyes meet in the heavy darkness
along with our hands, arms, legs, and lips
I slip into the hollow shell we made
with twists and curves like a nautilus-
your sheets are the ocean tossed gently around us

loving
is an art, and I do it well
to the point where
I do not want to live tomorrow.
But it is day two
and I am dead without you

I am Sylvia Plath and decide to commit a suicide
Before night, before midnight, before any incident spoils my intention that goes totally upward, or any single communication proves it is life: generally  moves on haphazard, neither do I want be introduced as a horrible criminal never been merciful to grandiose thought in keeping self magnified or words very elegance. Away… don’t look at me in this way since reality is so horrified, since I’m a goddess with only one eye  lying beside the lake and playing with water flowing on the line of the green jungle what we call it life to shot the fingers on heavenly drops and sing the song of eternity  to confess: I’m not as honest as other gods attached to the mirror of the wall with four eyes to reflect the  realities of  people of come and go, creating   flickering and shaking atmosphere over my sights that makes me semi- blind when  three other eyes remaining behind the mirror and  one eye -goddess is not trustworthy enough in exposing the  murmurings  of  the woman reposing on river side in pledge of tuning the song of solitude with silent outcry:
La  La  La                  La La La                       La  La La     *

                                                             My Love:
How creative you are, not cruel at all, just very creative in exploring the long distance between doves of love and very cunning in employing people to excavate a chasm of agony, torturer and blood between you and I… I’ me Sylvia Plath and decide to commit a suicide, before maroon crimson night, before children know what their mother really decide, before horrible fish rises abruptly inward to devour my heart or demolish all my beauties of ladylike in shadow of  your last statement warned me  “ for what  you are still in dark?”
Dark! What a brilliant statement in the first and last and lost time, on duration of nights insomnia or feeling nausea when autumnal  rain attacked the yellow red leaves to fall to forecast that  unity is so far. When nights’ owl very kindly repeats your heart  dark…dark…when the mirror broken, eyes  spatter on all over the world, god and goddess remain eye less, completely blind, and our last reminder…your last medal on my heart still dark.
I am Sylvia Plath and decide to commit a suicide.

I do not know her name
For she said she did not have one
I know not where she come
For she said she was from nowhere

I met Her at the carnival
she was at the Funhouse
her clothes did not match
And her tangled golden hair reached her waist
what caught my attention was the balloon
A color I’d never seen before
Drawn in, I followed her inside
She was humming
She carried herself as a traveler
passing through each moment
Even as we were going up steps,
It felt as though we were getting deeper
The lights were dimming
The noise was fading
It was me and her
We entered the hall of mirrors
when she began to laugh
Reaching painful tones
Her balloon popped
And with a smile on her face
She turned around
She looked at me with her empty sockets
And said, “Is it not funny to you?
Mirrors all around me
And I still can not see who I am!”

Have you ever heard the sound of nothing?
A desolating sunbeam hitting the ground
Each individual on the hunt for something
Yet, nothing can be found.

The trees feel lonely,
They meet the sky for a chat.
They beg for money,
But the sky gets nothing back.

Together, the world turns grey.
The smell of death starts to cover the streets
While they all stand and wait
We just stay inside and try to fall asleep.

Zodiac signs have failed to tell
of an epoch of limerence waiting ahead
neither could a compass navigate
a homesick constellation to its rightful cell
and yet I travel, swim, and tread
on a glimpse of you
on a foreign thread
on a beacon of fury to accommodate

Epiphany emerged
the world’s ablaze
mnemonic particles floated again
Astral projection took its toll
your skin reached out and took the fall

I oft hear sounds; my sonorous wails
my sword-of-a-body
and my serrated edges
drove them away
but there you were
a scabbard of steel
to engulf and congeal
to hold and to heal

Alpha Cephei has got nothing on you
you became the star that ruled the Earth
the right hand of the northern pole
the right hand I chant my paean for
you were 49 light years away
until you adhered to my directions

My roots will cease to loosen their grip
on your light rays and elysian touch
on what I crave, yearn, and long
for you are the home that got me stuck
and you are the space where I belong