a window of time:
wind sneaks in from behind like -
her breath on his neck.

I was ever affection over expectation,
A gentleman to the core,
I wanted love and the real deal,
Not *** with a willing *****,

Affection over expection true,
But laid upon a bed of want and hope,
Of Cupids arrow in my heart
But aimed and fired by who?

And there's the rub as I turn to dust,
For Cupids flight was elsewhere,
Not near me nor near mine heart,
His bow and arrows dormant,
And starting now
To rust

A life of my own,
   where the light shins through curtains
   and remnants of rain on the veranda
   where we danced last midsummer
A little corner in the world,
   where my childhood dreams
   become the lens of reality now
   dancing in the limelight
   of an overachiever's dares
A coffee shop down the street,
  a seat unoccupied
  a muffin left uneaten
  a glance at the heavy door
  a coffee stain on the oakwood floor.

we each bought
a burrito from
that same van
i would visit back
when i lived there
two pork burritos
one with added
sweet potato
brazenly requested
the other simply
the expected guac
my overconfident request
should have cost more
than I was charged
but the man serving
could not bring himself
to demand the full cost
for "just" a burrito
we sat and ate
on the bank of the river
that i used to
think of as mine
we bit
we chewed
we swallowed
catching up
as napkin-less
salsa-dripping hands
were licked clean
and wiped dry
across the thighs of
already marred jeans

Sitting outside in my grandpa’s veranda,
he passed away before I could appreciate his presence;
he wished for me to come see his art;
his garden, a green maze of trees and bushes,
from marigolds and periwinkle to mango trees and whatnot.

As I lay here on the mat,
close to my grandpa, I might gladly add;
seeing the ants crawl up on the periwinkle blooms
and wild butterflies dancing overhead;
with a bulbul on a mango tree branch
and crows chattering near food dumps;
with a sweet scent of marigold in the air
and crickets chirping in the background;
with a mongoose running on the broad fence
and a squirrel eating rice that my grandma kept;
with the sun rays hitting my face through the trees
and a couple of flies hovering beside my novel;
with a moment of pure serenity,
that brings a peaceful calm to this tranquil space;
my heart feels full and my soul at ease.

As a gentle breeze whispers by,
my hair seems to be afloat.
As the fresh air clears my mind,
I feel alive like never before.
As I hear children playing nearby,
memories of my childhood days come alive;
one of the best moments of my life;
in this veranda forever entwined.
As I feel a soft breath of crispness on my face,
I reminisce about the times I had lived with him;
the village isn't as bad as it seemed.

This is the land where my ancestors lived;
and where I feel his presence still,
he must be smiling sitting on the chair beside me;
finally, content that I appreciate his accomplishment.

Roses are red
Violet are blue
The more you think of it
The more it haunts you

How long has it been since I put this pen to paper?
My works have dried, as empty as the soul that wrote them.
I've come so far, yet gone nowhere. Should I write on, as per?
Scratch out bitter whines and cough them up like phlegm
Intoxicated by blood and hate and scream at God?
Those were the actions of a fallen soul. A child lost in data
Too cluttered and obtuse to see past the firing squad
Of my own accursed creation. I was undone, in beta,
Unreleased because I wasn't yet ready to be me.
Everything about me was wrong, hidden deep
Within smoke and fog I made myself so I could be
Whatever I needed to be. But the truth will seep.

And maybe now I'm ready.
I'm ready to be Her.
Maybe now I'm ready to write.