the light brightening-to-shadow,
gradating

what
can be done,
what
we call it,
when
humans color,
bleach and dye their body's
hair

if only
we could gradate,
gray-date,
our lives,
select the days
we graduate
when
where
the light dissipates into shadow,
bleaching and dying
our lives

when, where,
we could be the being,
the changeling,
dyeing the destiny of our designation*


why would we need poetry?

2 weeks it's been since your skin on mine
hand in my hair, fingers round my neck.
a fortnight young memory, rapidly ageing
it appears to me that there is no end in sight.
too young to travel, too young to defy.
all too much aching for me to survive.
to crave your touch, your voice and your smile
has become the only routinely act these past two weeks.
your smell has faded from the clothes you left behind,
but my yearning has only begun gradating into light.

agnosticism disregarded
i pray for an end to this
for two weeks to extend no longer till you're once again in my arms.