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Rohan P Aug 2018
3:30 on the train—
it seems so dark these days:

these days
when grass withers
on my footsteps, when thoughts
of you—you, the flame of my lighthouse,
the sail of my ocean—drift and
hang, warily, in the murky air.

3:30 on the train—
another day, rustling through the
dark, without you.
f. ell
Rohan P Sep 2018
i bare my shoulders to the wind's chill.
i sit next to you on the car ride home.
i watch as shadows gather on your skin.
i pine for twilight after the sun sets—

and still hear you in the pine air
and still feel you in my pining breath
and still hold you in each pined sigh.
Rohan P Jan 2018
whiter upon the flowing, her sounds
rested in morning coffee and echoed
in wildflower honey. i remembered her in
halcyon hues: she
folded down; i crossed and uncrossed;
she smiled at my clumsy ramblings and
i watched the lingering, icy
windshield.
Rohan P Sep 2018
you ran with me through the terminal, fleeing
the tranquility of geographical association.

it was always the same: a surrender to the overcast;

we watched the sky fill with paper airplanes.
prove my hypotheses: tell me you don't love me.
Rohan P Nov 2018
amass, the flesh.

we're just spinning brains
without a central axis.

and i thought that you would
steady me, i thought

you would expect more.
towards the centre, like an earth.
Rohan P Feb 2018
“an embodiment of the oneness of life”, you supposed,
but the moon was cold and the sun had lost itself below
the horizon

“the oneness of life”, you whispered,
melting into the calm.
Part 2
Rohan P Aug 2019
It is unlatched
so two shades of blue shine
      unseen, darkening.
There is no pale impression from
the ceiling light, just indigo,
      just midnight,
ink on a page unread.
You can’t make out the dust
      spiraling
anymore. You can’t remember
the last notes played here,
      anymore.
Rohan P Jan 2018
for displacement of
covers matches the rising, the
floating of your soul — the green
fades to thinner pines and
wilted evergreens, while the snow
piles and clusters in cones:
up to grey, then
small, then
white.
Rohan P Apr 2018
stellar masses collide
beyond you; they silhouette
your ethos, slip loose your
hair—
they pattern your fingertips
and colour your
sigh

their flame:
a colossus
in your eyes.
Rohan P Feb 2018
auks felt like brushes
of yellow as midnight
traversed the sky; clouds
rolled as light
reflections of wisdom and i smelled
their smooth, ebbing trails of
quiet passing.
Part 1
Rohan P Sep 2018
you drive as an
ageless curse;
sparrow feather
to your chest,
you wait
to take flight.
humanity is dead. modernity has transformed us into monsters. we live in an abstraction of ideology.
Rohan P Oct 2018
crushed underfoot:
ever buried our

leaves (once red

with dawn
in the style of wcw
AVA
Rohan P Dec 2017
AVA
hands and bones
disjoint and adjoin these
prefixes, for the hills of your
monoliths align with the lighting of the
north; and over and circular you
descend and ascend, feeling the blue of the water
and the paleness of the sky—and in
night, hanging softly, shrouding, impenetrable
valleys, immutable in their perception of your
calm, longing for the adoration of
feeling.
Rohan P Apr 2018
i.

lights drifted
over you

and i—

darkened
your silhouette

       shadow
danced on the walls
pressed against the
slumber,gently rocking

my—

over you.
part one
my—
Rohan P Apr 2018
ii.

the nighttime
nods and mourns to
the sounds of your breathing—
like a beacon of the sea, she feels
the pull of the moon, feels the
rising shadows of disunion

that mass of air, thicker
than the crust of the earth and
the layers of the ether;
you couldn’t remember how to smile or
laugh or cry—

you just sighed
at her.
part two
cry—
Rohan P May 2018
impermanence was
traced
in flowers;

in clouds below
the highway

the hills thawed;
the night cried on.
Rohan P Aug 2018
paper airplanes
folded into
shimmering glances of
you, your eyes buoyant,
rusty with the dust.
you, your eyes fireflies
—looming, granite fireflies—
folded into
floodlights

glaring, blinding,
blue.
while trying to describe your blue eyes, the first thing I thought of was a paper airplane in a blue sky.
Rohan P May 2018
two centres of
you:

they pulled me like
cats. they pulled me like
carriages.

the roads were
muddy: worn and
muddy.

the sky was grey;
the world was ready to
rain.
Rohan P Mar 2018
—dreamed and
still (it leavened and dimmed, to sea:
anymore?  —

—wrapped and
lamenting (it folded and hushed, to be:
evermore? —

—warmed and
quailing (it reddened and shallowed, and she:
nevermore? —
Rohan P Feb 2018
reflective in
reflections: sad,
you said, greens and blues,
sad, you wondered,
like a ribbon

i felt you too—
pale greens,
fading blues)
Rohan P Feb 2018
spinning, you were
the same heart beating—

but dissonant: your eyes wandered
over

when you

smiled:
the dark fell away in waves,
your heart still hid away.
Rohan P Feb 2018
time pressed on my heart like
the whiteness of your tile

;

she was in your arms
my

features
fade

without
Rohan P Feb 2018
sentinel, pines
and pain winding in the dark
i cuddle with the emptiness
and fold with oblivion—
and knowing:
if you had to fade,
the nighttime remains
and knowing:
you were just a relegation of
loveless noise.
eventually?
Rohan P Feb 2018
shaking through the warm underground,
rising to the impassive dusk:
i pointed out the stars but
we were blinded by the light—

you still stared.
Rohan P Aug 2018
heavy air, close thunderclouds
closing, now

closer than breath
(breathe, thunderclouds,

breathe)
inspired by mbv's "lose my breath"
Rohan P Feb 2018
lights flare and colour
the compressions of mislaid understanding

they turn like
spring without flowers
and spin like
winter without snow

they vacate like faded
concrete and burn like
wasted, pressing aisles

they sway like promises
of heartbreak, and crumple
like sharp, reflected whispers

they move like
formless shadows and
imagine like closeness

to you

—i bend:
throbbing
dully
Rohan P Apr 2018
if i closed
you—

if the air fell
backwards, darkly—

if yours
brooked with golden
sunrise

softened (i love

when you
    dance.
Rohan P Aug 2018
orchestral
rows, fading
one by one
into higher and higher
blankness. it's an impossibility
that you'll look up there and meet
my eye. we're not starlight, after
all; you don't look at us with wonder.
ellie?
Rohan P Jul 2018
we sailed on cream
and aster—

where bluejays
toss
air into air;

where frogs
curdle
mud into milk;

where blackberry
roots
skyline into horizon—

(we sailed)
Rohan P Nov 2018
I want your crimson—
envelop,
cling,
embody


Like fractals to rub my hands
       over.

Kindling aplenty
as the snows set in.
Rohan P Sep 2018
what spaces do
you leave between the
lines? what places do
you hide, beside mine?

ivory lines lead parallel
from dawn to dawn: from
pictures of you that adorn
agelessness.

prayers to gold-
tipped sunsets won't
bring that dawn
again.
you're the dawn, if you were wondering.
Rohan P Oct 2018
your screaming aura,

your ethos:

you're woven into
bedstands and nightstands;

looming sideways,
your head disappears into

a maze of tangled lines.
i've made a mess of us.
Rohan P Jun 2018
doves
decay in gutters;
their ghosts dart
across your greedy
eyes.
Rohan P Aug 2018
how do you
fade? doves
sink into a red sun

pale,
aberrant in a sky of
memory.
f. ell (always)
Rohan P Jan 2019
found her but couldn't hold
what wanted you to find, to love
what you are
i felt you when you were closing

when you were closer
closer her
Rohan P Mar 2018
driving over these
blue lines is like bridges
without arched triangles—

your arched and aching triangles.
an experiment in absurdist poetry.
Rohan P Mar 2019
Etched
feather on water's shoulder

her eyes beneath something
cloudy.

On roll these
temperate symbols of
a dreamy landscape.
inspired by: glenn
written to: boards of canada
Rohan P Jan 2018
ambience echoes in caverns and
caves: i press my ear against
the wall and wait for your
sigh.
Rohan P Aug 2018
swallows fly in
fractured patterns: i stared
at the canopy

i bellowed your name
and sobbed; my dog
licked my face

faraway: i know your voice
rumbles with music.
this is for ellie, the girl i've never met. ellie rowsell: i've fallen head-over-heels for you.
Rohan P Jan 2018
—loneliness; and watching the graphite
scratch and scatter into
moonlight, you spread through
the inky sea and swim up
through the angled crests
of understanding: while you
remember last night's stars,
i stand and stare at the
colours of our ending.
Rohan P Nov 2018
not feeling the gravity
around your darkness,
not seeing the depth and shape
—stretched, elongated—
the asymmetry

of axes, maligned, blue on
red: blood on metal,
tooth by tooth:

we don't fly anymore
on these pale, manila wings.
i've tried so hard to not love you: did it finally work?
Rohan P Nov 2018
you're scrawled in the faint wood,
aren't you? i don't smell
your pine and heather,

an evergreen finality—
not evergreen, anymore.
Rohan P Aug 2018
half-brightened in starlight's silver stream,
pulsing like the gentle whisper of your dream;
pulled from the cradle of spring's bright
and tucked into winter's evernight.
For Anusha.

I imagine you, standing in the starlight, ephemeral, radiant. You illuminate my world more than they ever could.
Rohan P Jul 2018
your dress is black (the
smell of summer grass)

and everything holds
everything
    else.
Rohan P Oct 2018
a million lines make a window:
each suspended,
each digressing in the paleness
of space.

this distance from
you (a blotch of dark ink,
bits of pressed lead)
can never hurt more
than your expectation.
i spent the last weekend waiting in anticipation. each morning i woke up with a hope—a plethora of possibility that faded with the setting sun.

i suppose i wouldn't have it any other way.
Rohan P Aug 2018
i don't
know you anymore; i

i am

pink sky,
     red-tipped flames
i cut the forest in
you.
ways)
Rohan P May 2018
you slept in the whiteness
of blank pages,
like snow—
footsteps along the edges.

your breath rose and circled me,
held me, like your wisps of
silken hair—quiet, never finding
a home.
I miss the wintertime.
Rohan P Apr 2018
her everything
curled into the evening—
the flame ebbed
and darkened.
Rohan P Mar 2019
Crystalline cold upon asphalt:

Fated.

It melts for me,
I am colder by you,

We do not collide.
missed james today
3/8/19.
Rohan P Dec 2017
and the fog remains best understood unspoken;
concealed and silently together, we stare and
silence—only the quiet of your eyes mirrors the
peace of the morning, the greens of the unmeasured,
the dark intimations of understanding.
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