If my body were strings—
Dancing to pure vibration
Granting the possibility
of lively, touchable matter,
Matter itself would hinge
on the sweet tremor of your name.

It sure felt the rip—
Heart out my ribs—
when your voice went silent.

Still,
in love-frequencies,
such filaments rejoice:
knotting and tangling
replaying us through
Several hidden dimensions—

Or whatever modern physics
keeps hinting at it.

I lost my focus—dreaming a quantum leap—

Believe me:
Such threads tense at every thought
of their plausible alignments:
A bunch of them making
Your ancestors’ atoms colliding!
Just so one day
— for my own personal desire—
one random entanglement
could finally produce—
the loveliest colour
your eyes would have.

Now that you've found me after 7 years, it doesn't seem magical or romantic like in the movies.
You have to understand. I thought I'd never hear from you again.
God this is supposed to be a miracle, a red string connection...why does it seem ordinary, kind of boring.
Disappointing, being found by a man who's already kept.

We were always more
                 Than the sum of ourselves
We were never two that became one
Or one plus one
                         Equates two
We were beyond relativity
More than carbon
More than water
More multi dimensional
        
There is no other explanation
As to why we still connect
                     Through portals of time

I have a string of gold
It’s wrapped around me
Like a gentle whispers
Gliding upwards softly
Gold is malleable

he plays with my love
with the strings of his bow
it makes such a precise sound
consistently on pitch

he moves his hands
inch-perfect on strings
each tune a new sorrow
each string used
more infatuated then before

Forgot what I searched for to find heaven.
But I know that at the age of seven
I seized my mother’s phone and found a god.
He led me to an arresting world with strings.

Strings that swept your hair the way the wind does
when your ego would reach the sparkling skies.
They touched your heart no matter how heartless.

I refused to blink because if I did
I would miss a second of his gentle
fingers gliding across the maple fretboard.
And no sane person would want to miss that!

Strings danced back and forth as he played a chord.
Oh, his fingers grew sore, but calluses
helped desensitize them from aches and pain.

The instrument he mastered was waiting
to call him master cause’ guitars love how
he manipulates and makes them his slave.
Strings begged for his touch, for sounds they could make.

My eyes felt heavier than dense gym weights.
I mustn’t stop gazing if I want to
stay lost in heaven. So **** riveting!

“School is tomorrow.” “******, I forgot.”
“Give the phone back. Hmm, what are you watching?”
“Heaven.” “What did you say?” “I said heaven.”
Mom didn’t say anything afterward.

A few hours came, she asked for the phone.
I gave it to her, prepared my backpack.
Maybe in a different universe.
I would have proclaimed, “Don’t take the phone back.”

It's always you, whom I miss
It reminds me of the perfect blue
on purple sky,
I attach him on a beguiling lullaby retracting the memories of the sea
where the strings like constellations
connect us; You can never be apart from the ocean.