I have been locked with you in a world that is
without you
I can no longer see you as my eyes have been blinded with  constant wet
I can no longer hear your voice as my ears are constantly ringing in a deafening murmur
I can no longer touch you as I cannot reach you
with you is without you

my lips have found yours
under the rain
we both have our raincoats
on, the same beige color  
pressing my lips on yours
hold you real tight
when the cat in my arms
hardly breaths stuck between our pleasure-driven bodies
and meows between our trembling souls and racing hearts

Never forget that once we were lovers
who had hopes and dreams
Always remember that we had a future in the past

Clearing the harshly calm, gray, shallow, stitched shadows of winter
on the pillow. Shining its light through the window  
spring is almost here to nest love  
not even slightly grasping the end     
or hearing the lonely, silent, detached murmurs of a mourned love

Springing from the pure and transcendent serendipity of love 
I have embroidered fancy, needlepoint stitches of you
on the clear canvas, twining the shadows of you with the most beautiful colored yarns
to nest my love under spring waters and bird nests

Shadowing my way towards you 
death is stitched to my soul with a hundred nettle rash like needle stings
to nest my sorrow under my heavy heart aching despite the spring
clearly singing a love sonata about a flaming red, bleeding heart flower sewed on a weary, withering woman’s chest 

On the chamomiles, poppies, and beautiful roses embellished quilt  
here you and I nest
and finally, rest  
when we have a bitter, sharp stitch in our hearts
having seen the dreadful, deadly, and dark shadow selves
repressed fears, tears, and spears ****** our souls
through cluttered sorrows under the semi-stitched garments 
Even the clear spring nor any other magic can possibly unclog

you have never been here at this time of the year
who cares
if the trees will not ever bloom again
nevermind
I feel like you have come all the way to witness my death anyway

in a shallow taken- for- granted-ness
he held her hand loosely
as if she would always be there
to fill his life

Penguins march in my dreams
in a city that will soon be terrorized
with the dispersed paint of their black and white
I am blind in the seamless continuity of whiteness
invisibility undermines my black sorrow
left behind by the happily marching penguins