yesterday
nowhere to be seen,
tomorrow
just the occidental’s dream,
all there is, is the now,
my not so shy, oriental dove.

for the sage,
his day is your night.
your perceived reality, his dream,
this universe merely an illusion.

appearing to be real
existing
outside of the mirror,
as though a reflection.

living this indeed
will be your second coming!


© 2021

as the shimmering stars
in the scorpio skies
samba in syzygy,
here on scorched earth
the sparkling eyes of this silk rose
become stress’s antidote to soothe body and soul.

feeling sanguine,
even a tad sangfroid,
i smile,
scribbling sultry muses
sauced with sass and sibilance


© 2021

delicate yellow jasmine
why are those succulent lips sealed?
or is it just that
blossoming flowers seldom speak?

as the shy half moon
steals a glimpse of our union,
your sparkler eyes gloss just a bit

don’t you know that
you and only you
get to rest your head
on my aging shoulders?

as you fly away
to that adopted land,
remember that
i live for now
by dying for you


© 2021

for this trip
you’ve chosen to take
far away from me,
let the world be your oyster.

pick any place to hide
and wipe clean
all of my finger prints.
with it, the hate too
from the pain of knowing
the various ways,
you love me.

when the dust settles,
most trails you’ll take
with or without
that autumnal moon,
will surely bring you back to my heart.

amidst
azure autumnal skies,
a mellifluous tune
floats in ether
emanating from his golden flute.

even the falling leaves 🍂
on hearing such melancholic melody
pirouette like whirling dervishes
before kissing terra firma

the invisible flautist
is everywhere and nowhere,
so close,
yet so far.

he’s a lover, teaser, warrior and philosopher.
someone for whom
even mercurial time and fuzzy clouds sway in ecstasy,
to his unnerving rhapsody


© 2021

will some one vaccinate me
from this virus of love?

paris is burning
from all my yearning,
yet, you will be my first desire
and my last regret.

let the flames of Armageddon consume me now,
cuz it beats a leisurely death by a thousand cuts.

this ain’t shopping for candy
or a game of Peter losing Wendy
‘tis as real
as illusions get.

these million shards of glass
from the heart  you dropped
will not be picked up,
no, no, no.... they will not

to lie here,  forever
like a tomb for future lovers to see
below the arches in this soulful park,
where you so casually stopped
locking those delicate hands of yours into mine.

© 2021