Love. Lust.

When I hold you like this
I become a heart.
Brimming with joy, pulsing
with the beats of your harp.

Slices of heaven,
one piece at a time.
Can’t fantom iciness
has ever entered our minds.

You’re ever so gentle or
do you still hesitate?
We both know the perils
of desperate souls seeking mate.

You say it’s a special drug,
a chemical relay.
You’ve done it before
& I’ve seen the scars.

You are so beautiful though,
broken, not just sum of parts.
A Picasso, jagged,
breath-taking piece of art.

Which is why without you
life can feel so hollow.
I will keep wetting your lips,
so you can bear that cross.

They are laughing all the while
thinking we are lost cause.
For we are the practitioners of magic,
the alchemy of love & lust.

Afterthought.

As I lie down to die
one final time.
Don’t wanna say goodbye,
you’ve already left.

All these years
filled with tears.
Even the thunder
couldn’t shake my fears.

After all that’s
said & done,
nothing much
left to hide.

Had I known that
the path is through you,
I’d kept my heart &
you would not have died.

The last drops of
blood have dried.
Surprised how much
I had bled.

You & I are
two sides of one coin:
eternal light touching
eternal night.

A tale told of
a life mis-led.
Still angel wings
flapping overhead.

Can’t pray any more
with my last breath.
Been waiting too long
for me to confess.

This life went
just as planned.
You are the enemy,
& I lost, you won.

Period Talk – June Edition.

period-tango-slim-2.png “I’m nothing if not confused” many a person uttered that line with such finality you’d suspect they’re gonna be alright. That fatalism brings its own solution as I resigned to spend my weekend with the “guest” who for once knocked on my biological door on a Friday. Kindly enough. I thought it would be easy too. A bit chatty and uncommonly “sociable” are the side effects of being a bit high from internal chemical somersaults and blood-loss. It’d be fun with the in-laws.

Except, I over-slept. Still in bed at 11 o’clock on a Sunday while I should be serving tea for these other guests. I was in a cozy, hazy dream and only vaguely aware of my companion’s “subtle” cues of should-be-obvious-but-not-to-me noises as he got up at 10:30am. I guess I should be the one with the tea and breakfast ready. My bad. I wish I didn’t have to see that glance from the in-law’s eyes. The utter disapproval or disgust that she must have reserved for me all that morning. It mirrored my own. I wondered how much a failure I am for not being a good host, a good “daughter”, a good companion to an exceptional and long-suffering son.

The wound is a familiar one. You’d think I’d have learned how to take it by now. Then again, maybe not. I realized something though. It is my fault. For still looking for others for validation. For still blaming myself for being who I am. For still taking this passive-aggressive crap as a matter-of-course. I am my own human-being. I will live with it. In the meantime you can serve your own tea, pretty please.

May your flow be smooth.

Nursery Rhyme.

Hello, my child,
here’s something for your pouch.
A blessing from your elders,
a drop of tear from me as well.

It’s not what you believe I know,
don’t shake your head nor pout.
They’re there when you need them,
to remember us by when you fail.

Good night, little mouse,
here’s something for your satchel.
A piece of heart from the hunt &
a bone knife of your father’s will.

I know it’s not common any more
don’t feel embarrassed nor stutter.
There will be time for their use,
remember to keep them safe after.

Goodbye, my love,
take these letters to these men.
There are ladders you will need to climb,
use these jewels while you still can.

I know it’s not the way you’ve led,
don’t be put down nor think me wrong.
A life is not what one planned,
write me when you recount this song.

Saturday morning-noonish.

Indigo pot with Francis,
matcha tea with milk in a jar.
Chickens roaming
don’t know where.
Yes heart, be free
to rise above.

Saturday morning-noonish
breakfast egg
with raisin bread.
Fake fire crackling
in the stereo.
Easy-chair guards the books.

Open the window
just a crack,
summer winds
bring in life.
Nothing to do
but to rest.

Let’s all
take a breath.

And hold…

Fools.

I’m in love with your nipple,
I’m in love with your socks.
I love you as a whole,
and all the little parts.

When you are packing to leave,
I ask where are we headed?
When you do come back,
I say just this one more time.

I’m yours for life.
I’m yours for life.
And you are mine,
why won’t you accept?

I’m a fool for you,
but you are also a fool.
I offer you my world,
how lovely when you say:

“baby, so do I”.