He told me he was damaged.
I was too,
So I tried to fix him.
If I could save him, I could save myself,
Or maybe he would save me.
But instead,
He broke me further
Instead of mending the rips in my soul,
He tore it to shreds,
And left his marks on my skin.

His palm is a sepulchre,
It holds captives and sun-rays.
Macabre consolation fractured his skin.
He who embalms the petals of my words,
to paint forlorn attempts.
With keen acumen he carves the coffins
And adorns the figures of decay.
As alchemists, he works,
to convert base spirits into colours;
Immortal for all the decades of disdain.
His palm is the afterlife,
It keeps hummingbirds and streams.
Unholy droplets cured his cells.
He who puts me on hold,
like soulless novels on his shelves.
As soothsayers, he says,
"You count your pulses; no longer."

I have written poems that hymn their love of mute birds
And poured the stars into their palms
I have burned their feathers into words
That shone like ember in your jars
I thought these birds were your guardians
And you'd succumb to my merciful massacre
I haven't realized it was obvious
That you were nothing but a traveller

I have written poems that hymn their love of hummingbirds
And sprinkled salt on their scars
I have turned their chords into pearls
Crimson-blooded and tars
I thought these birds were your audience
That would succumb to a wrangler
Now it is clearly obvious
That the letters of your name
And the venom of your face
Are but a constriction that is vascular

He walks gracefully like the sun
You can not help but marvel at the sight of the tufts dancing on his forehead
His countenance pierces into your ***** and tickles your insides unmercifully
The ebony stars in the highest kingdom long for his attention, with him, there is no compromise, either he faces your dirges aptly and revives the bits of what-so-called hope, or he does not look at you at all.
No, you would not understand unless you see him, but beware the maze of his eyes, for I tell you..
My placid atoms rest like ember and every bit I have left of pride declares its obeisance.
His outburst of loud laughter makes the goddess of beauty mutter out of envy, and the distorted harmonies of my own seek refuge in between his eyelids, like the diffused light rays run into the twilight zone.
But listen, love
out of all that you are, all the sacred paeans chanted by your name, all the symphonies that you dress in, the land within your ring, the silence you stand amidst, all the birds, the tunes, the melodies, all the chocking sounds and all the ominous insecurities, all the serene electric waves, all this bafflement I could not comprehend nor the seraphs would comprehend
Out of all that you are
all what you are
is the annihilation of a bullet
that leaves pansies where it's shot.

They asked me what it's like
to be in love with him

I said it's like the rotation of Earth
so familiar
like meeting the sunrise
each and every day at 06:34 AM

yet so new
like the solar eclipse
that occurs only once
after a handful of mundane years

Naked is how I love you
like an autonomous grain of sand
skin against skin
and your furtive passions
composed nerve-cells
lavish with mellifluous vibrations
that wash away all signs of negative energy

Naked is how I crave you
that simple lithe figure
faded muscles and tufts of hair
a dimple with a non-existent twin
palliate a thriving surge

Naked, just as you lie
underneath the satin sheets,
and aquiline just as the same
succumbed to unremitting sparks
you are the motif of my every piece
*and you are that act of symbiosis
between the canvas
and the paint

Its scrabble (for adults),
A game of hearts
where the rules never stay the same -
its a beautiful suffering, a shameless mess
as we play the letter-game,
syllables,
phrases,
all breathed into life by actions
and filled to capacity by desires and fears.
Love is semantics.
You can rest assured that somewhere,
somehow,
someone is saying exactly what they want you to hear.
How are words any different from our hearts
e  x  t  e  n  d  e  d   in naive hope of acceptance and reciprocation?
What are the principal parts of love?
I love
I have loved
I shall or will love
I have been loved
to love . . .
amo amare amavi amatus sum
Each more desperate than the last,
add a small, sarcastic smile and say with glee -
'I'm fine'.
(Grammar isn't society's strong suit anyway)