Movie ticket,
cinema stub,
two halves torn apart
by the fickle fingers of the screen attendant:
he looked up at me with a smile-
one learnt from a handbook compiled by the words of some corporate type,
who dislikes his job, you can tell from his vibe.

“The receipt's in the bag”,
I requested it to be in my hand,
customer service fingers are always painted a day-glow green,
hideous talons of the fake queen,
traced from the princesses of the TV-silver-******-fake-TV screen:
she looked up at me with a smile-
one learnt from a magazine of ink,
nothing more than lies disguised within the wholesome typography imprint.

Carrying nothing but a wallet,
“would you like a bag sir?”
I am carrying nothing but a wallet, of course I would like a bag,
what do you take me for:
she looked up at me with a smile-

Wait.

Her intriguing trapdoor smile concealed
perfectly straight teeth that,
through the gap in her mouth,
spat out the shop floor script,
as if a Shakespearean soliloquy
equipped for the stage,
not this retail trade.

A small child once swam up to me
While I was drowning and gasping for breath
And asked.
Kindly.
Be my friend?
Without responding I looked at her,
And ignored her
To continue with my flailing in the shallow water.
And it took me until now,
And until later
To realize the deepness of the water was in my mind.
That she had not swam to me but walked
With water around her ankles
Her ankles alone.
So now I'm standing
In shallow water
With a friend, who has waited
And waited
For me to realize there was never any water at all.
None at all.

I still remember her pinay almond eyes and peanut butter smile
even though she was a cracked nut.

I still remember chewing on her whiskey-sponged lips
her Koala cheeks and the Melbourne burn of her voice.

I still remember her throwing fits and things at me
we’ll chalk that up as the hazards of dating a Dominican woman.

I still remember her Grand Canyonized Salma Hayek thighs
as fat and meaty as her spicy Mexican tortas.

I still remember the coca leaf nature of her walk
and the precise coffee of her eyes that kept me up all night.

I still remember her catracha scent when escaping her man
just to lay the blue frosting of her clandestine mouth on mine.

I still remember her swiftly poetic like a Chico Barque song
the Brazilian beauty who netted in my heart a Pelé-size goal.

I still remember them.

neck·ing/ˈnekiNG/
Noun: The action of two people kissing and caressing each other amorously.


Both thumbs hanging on the back pockets of your jeans
while leaning against the wall and biting your bottom lip
enticing the oasis of your tongue, your breath dying of thirst.

Your flirtatious smile already knows that it’s entitled
to the mwah’s, ooh’s and aah’s coming the way of your pout
little did you know of the kisses you could fit in that mouth.

it’s the mathematical sum of everything that’s round
it’s dancing in the rain under an infinite fall of X’s and O’s
it’s nibbling on a bottle of Hennessy before taking a shot.

While I hold your face with both hands,
my eyes never wavering from yours,
I caress your cheeks, undress your thoughts,

feverishly going in, taking all the time in the world
to taste every bit of you and savor the moment so to speak
with our senses fogged, ******* in a tangled rope, in a kiss.

Then I pull some back to slowly feel your breathing into me
your clouded lips in my fingertips are a miracle of humidity
the stripped walls of oblivion is the last frontier with will see.

Before submerging deep into the point of no return
before your ripe apple meets the delicacy of my touch
before leaving in me, flower of skin, every last drop of you.

I am a lover.

I don’t know how to do nothing else to be honest
besides writing a few verses for loving ears.

Play our favorite song under soaked covers
the symphony of your moans my dear.

-Because you are my lover.

We melt the winter snow turning our bodies into flamethrowers
we don’t need North Korea to nuke us out of orbit.

-We are already there.
Because we are lovers.

We’ll burn down a million acres of the Brazilian Amazon
bring Barry White back to life to croon us back to the beyond.

From the bath to the bed
the sweetest insomnia awakes lying on your chest.

-Couldn’t expect nothing less
Because I am your lover.

To breathe the moon, chew on some stars, turn off the sun
dim the lights, turn on the breathing, hold your thighs.

Soak in the fertile oasis of your lips on mines
every inch of your body is a war zone landmine ready to explode.

-Because when we are lovers we are eager to please
and there’s no better life to die than in the comfort of your skin.

Pellets of rain pestered the cotton swagged
sky, cloudy purses grew black with scowls
coldly spelling their injustice. A chapter of
sunrays shot shamesless shards, irony perched

between chaperones; a truce maybe, rains restless
pathways of rays bleating their appeal, rooming in,
black balaclavas, rooting for blue beams,
itching bony beads of cloudy sweat, out of reach

In turn, limbs colour coated grassy spaces
tides of sun worshippers laughed out loud
their inner duets, hand in hand the sweltering
dance floor bathed them, sidling cotton clouds

Swiftly passing the sunscreen, laying back, beckoning
the sun from beneath neatly positioned cloud baubles.
Within an inch of our lives the splodges began, light
heavy, heavier, to the swell of April in full tune

Instantly the greedy green spaces groaned, ejected
sweet harmony, rolled out goodbyes, tongued stiff
breeze longing for its thirst to be quenched, and so
torrents rushed in where fools once lay

A lonely sunscreen bottle, remnant of warm
minds soaking heat, long days teasing into belief.
Yet April fooled us once more with beguiling banter,
chorused a chanting cheating lullaby of lamentation

As I become a memory, you become a verse.
The burden that you bear for me
Becomes a new day's curse.
We gave each other everything: time, faith, and trust.
We ignored the song of loneliness,
The scent and allure of lust.

As the scene shifted, your role began to change.
Your commitment felt lifted,
Your affection felt strange.
The shot clock expired, the title match done...
After the events that transpired,
You also lost your sense of fun.

So what's next for me, I don't know.
The things I want to see,
The places I want to go.
All of these things I will firmly hold true.
But the joy these will bring,
Won't match the joy I got from you.