spout
mayflowers
on my arms

splash
in a fall of
cascade

sing
myself a
melody

fling
a paper
airplane

make arrow
heads of
words

step out
stare intent
at stars

string an
old guitar
to frenzy

run to
the beat
of my feet

very
very
slowly

count
up to
ten

a room
caught in
mid-waltz

hush in  
a storm's
aftermath  

debris
strewn
around

I wake up in agony, somewhere today, where my hands fail to recognize the creases on your skin. It started abandoning the memory of what it's like to hold you. And as my fingers brush across your palms, its folds are some unfamiliar braille.

Then a streak of your scent pierces sheer through my conscious and reminds my heart. Suddenly, its beats are the rhythm that used to guide our feet to glide in synchrony in our waltz; it guides my steps, little by little, to when and where it all began: that once upon a yesterday, you held me close to your chest and made me listen to the orchestra of your breath-- until I awake and you're humming a different symphony.

It agonizes me, and my eyes that rummage for the love prints I impressed on your lips, that you hum it so merrily.

As the last waltz playing in my jacket ceased,
Loneliness and longing spilled out,
Along with a few coins and a recorder
From my roomy coat pockets.

The phone booth stood there,
Frosted by icicles of promises
Never thawed to life,
Yet a haven from my impasse;
A womb for the stranded & unwanted.

I closed the door behind me,
And fed the phone a few coins,
Punched your number with numb fingers
And fogged up the insides of the glass,
As I waited to hear your voice.

“Hello?” You said, but where were my words?
I must have lost them on my way,
I must have fed them to the phone
Along with the paltry coins,
Could you hear what I wanted to say?

“Hello?” You repeated, a little alert,
I listened to your silence, trying to smile,
It sank like warm music on my heart,
Waltzes and sonatas were so cliché.

Where were my words? Just one would suffice,
Couldn’t I sum us up in a single word?
I couldn’t find the kigo to our season.
I had lost it, left it with you,
That and my voice
In the world I was forced to leave,
And all this while I was held,
Tenuously to you by this phone call,
Till I heard the strained dial tone again,
In this silent world I’ve come to inhabit.

Eleven Fifty.
I see a nifty reporter fixing his tie,
Sipping in a teacup, drinking Chai.
He surveys the room for that moment of magic,
Not forgetting that the nature of his story is tragic.

He tells others that the invitation was a welcome gift,
Providing him the chance to debunk a particular myth.
The castle halls were filled with chatter and laughter
Spills of wine from wine glasses were happy disasters.

Eleven Fifty-two.
Night sky projects its color downwards,
Painting the city blue.
Stars mysteriously align with illuminating glow
As the chatter dies down, readying for a show.

With midnight approaching, beautiful words begin to appear,
engraved on the castle walls;
“you are the stars that ignite in the darkness of night.”
“…to where we stood.”
“I wish it was me.”
“I wish it was me.”
Recorded history of infinite love is all that I could see.

Eleven Fifty-Four.
A certain “Morty” is devouring shrimp to my left.
Ordering forty more, he's clearly satisfying his heft.
Our eyes meet for a second, my head nods
As if it’s a secret of his that I’ve already kept.

Eleven Fifty-Six.
It’s raining, a condition for her to “be”.
“Ooh’s” and “Ah’s” in the crowd but I can’t really see.
Time has stopped as the dance floor clears,
Anxious about this myth as midnight nears.

Eleven Fifty-Seven.
It’s not a myth at all - there she is! A living angel from heaven
Gracious in presence, magnificent in beauty,
We're staring at the star of a wonderfully vivid movie.

She’s wearing a silk-woven concoction of a crimson red dress,
A mask covering her face, necklace bears a family crest.
Legend says the people will witness her choice, hence
Her index finger points with a high-pitched voice.

Deafening silence for a moment… and then…

She picks a gentleman. That lucky *******.
Envious women are criticizing her; “Husky. *****. Witch.”
The man looks honored, almost intimidated
With her by his side, he clearly appears vindicated.

He takes her hand, and presses her body with his
And stares deeply into her eyes,
But what he saw staring back
Was a tragic tale he didn’t realize.

The music brings the Midnight Princess to life
As their spirits move in unison, like husband and wife.

They dance, and in that small infinity, I'm lost in awe
Her lovely waltz on the floor moving without a flaw
Beautifully elegant art in motion
Is all that everyone saw.

Eleven Fifty-Nine.*
*This man is running out of time.
He needs to convince her to stay
Before she vanishes away.

The myth supposedly goes like this:
If rain continues to pour past midnight,
That gentleman hopeful would be futile in his fight
For her heart, blinded by her gracious and kind sight,
Not wanting to regret his actions in hindsight.

He holds her tight, their union a great show,
But he only had a minute, forty seconds ago.
The ballroom rallies in hope for this man to catch her by his glove
As he promises her tomorrow, and proclaiming his love.

The rain is heard from inside the castle corridors
The clock strikes midnight, chiming in three sets of four
And she fades, with the audience awe-struck by the gleam
Convincing us all she was naught but a dream.

We wished it were him.
We wished it were him.
Hoped he would lift the curse.
She left him feeling worse.
They looked perfect together, but
She deserves forever.

It’s an experience witnessing magic without a fault
And she sadly hadn’t been seen ever since.
I pray she returns to dance an endless waltz
With her one and only fairy tale prince.

Petals of paper
for a stature svelte.
An opxum core.

Swindling willow
waltz upon a stage.
Tethered by the same roots.

A ***** moon,
an ascending tide.
Longing lovers without passports.

Army of emerald soldiers
seduced by ruby gypsies.
Ashen by a kiss.

Clumsy hearts vitrified -
never worn on sleeves.
Await a hummingbird.

we waltzed
into the bridge of
a ballad melody
slowly crippling upon our feet
steadying everything
to ensure the one whose falling is
nothing close to the heart

the melody
dawned us into
a trick of pain we need to evade
to ensure that neither you
nor i got the scratches
from the shooting arrows of the Amor's

before the cacophony blaze came
deafening the ground
we swore to never cross the swollen hope
and bring ourselves to another fallout
even with the closeness just
an inch of breathing the air
of a faintest droplet of eternity

and again
we need to ensure
not to let the feelings infiltrate our waltzing ground
not to let other sound come ruining the walls
which we have construct for too many years—
to be called for another destruction