Palm Reading

There is a certain gravity to burnt hands

a weight in motionless skin literature

grooves leading to sky

some to sea

some to stay puddled 

in frozen epithelial sleep

destined side by side

with amalgamated fleshy web

When the soot is gone

and the debris bury themselves in linings

blackened fingertips

can once again trace palms in braille

can cup faces

in a smoothness of stretched silk

without leaving traces of anything

but a lingering feeling of weight

of something fashioned by force

that can only come alone from fire

10.25 PM 

01.29.15

Between Punctuations

Longing is a book sealed in plastic

waiting to breathe between fingertips

its pages aching to stretch

to be flipped, to be folded

to be fanned near eager faces

to be heard

to be inhaled deeply

chapters needed to be arched, 

and soundless groaning

wait with every lines the spine take

side glances are wisps of verbal scents

that escape

that taunts the resurrection of 

yellowing scotch tapes to find

new graves under the table

but until I hear

myself tell stories before my bedtime

and finish my sentences before

I get distracted with my next meal

Before written words are drowned

with the ones that are spoken

It will remain in transparent paralysis

and so Wanting is a stack of stories

perfectly lined, properly spaced between paginations

perpetually hungry between punctuations 

beside each others smooth covers

and unwrinkled paper bellies.

12.16 AM

Jan. 12, 2015

No Difference

we stick our pain with bunny ears

mix tears with pink striations

we colour far beyond the lines

to hide the dirty lesions

we laugh and cough much louder now

to choke on quick pretentions

but still we linger back and forth

the space between our visions 

and soon again, we’re at standstill

to pause in quick reflection

the same amount of blood appears

between our torn midsections.

9.08 pm

June 08, 2014

Binding

we cast a spell on moonlit skies

an eve past your creation 

incense have filled both our eyes

and blurred all our intentions

the breath, the sighs, the long goodbyes

have sought an apparition

to come once more, the distant cries

that sparked our deconstruction 

the fingers drum like fireflies

enraptured with attraction

aflame it roars, and soars and flies

without a destination

between the haze, the fire dies

in ash it seeks reclusion

and now we pay the hefty price

three times in its completion.

3.52 PM

July 25, 2014

White Wine

I want to daze off mid-beer

I’d still be laughing and nodding

but my mind would be fizzing out

like bubbles off my drink

and I mentally roll my eyes

till I get a hang-over headache

What is wrong with me?

I think I’m lonely

Snipping your hair with my fingers

under the chair

and we are an arm’s apart

with laughters from a nearby table

I bunny hop in lights

and smile for the camera

Remember that slow dance

we murmur and hum

and it was just as were still

suspended with breaths

bouncing back and forth

somewhere, a tornado is born in utter, imploring

silence

somewhere, there are sand slipping between slippers

somewhere, there are necessary blurring that

come in focus 

and I’m not sure if I want to have kids

It might be just a reaction to the chocolate

undertone of this red wine

I just need to hear you say that

you don’t love me anymore

So, I can kill your father

so I can be there for you in his funeral

needing

It is a hungry thing at 2.18 in the morning

sitting in a bench, waiting for four hours

my ear on the ground, I can still hear 

heartbeats of corpses I killed long ago.

White wine would have been a better option.

7.52 PM.

07.09.2014

Stitched

Your blood is soaking my feet

and from a distance I hear you

break your heart into pieces

large enough for you to stitch again

like you've done repeatedly before

always on the cusp,

but never enough to let go

your hands all red

your eyes tear stained

not like kids with broken toys

but like wingless birds

with dreams of flying

like map lines

rising and falling and plotting

pain with reason, signs with meaning

songs with feelings

and you pick up fragments

like carefully torn paper strips

like deep, immeasurable delicate sobbing

holding them up into the light

finding which ones that fit

only to find puzzle pieces that no longer belong together

Your every breath is a question

to things you know you have the answers to

you ache to be ripped apart 

and I can only watch and sing you my lullabies

so I can fill in a few painful silent moments

with the only truths I know

you thread yourself back in painful

pin prick stitching, and the sensation

is the only life that keeps you feeling

until then I wouldn't mind this bleeding

the floor pooling, it wouldn't be deep enough

for you to drown. 

breaking will only make your heart

into a sky, with stars seeping in the fine cracks

where the gaps used to be.

For you Baby J.

2.32 AM

July 3, 2014

Too See

you've got

the nicest brown eyes I want to rip off

and eat. whole, without chewing

so my insides would be clearer to read 

like neon signs on a white artisan cafe wall

like dark coffee ink on stark white skin

washing it down with espresso so sweet

black loses its color and lends

its taste to trembling fingers

it must be that your skin

lie so well and the cream 

was too dense with froth

the stirrer wasn't stirring at all

and all I can think about are those

clumsy words, those small watery

chocolate, sprinkled

fragments that took shape and form

filling those gaps that construct

my state of necessity to be freed

from walls that cripple my senses

by the acquisition of your sight

the descent into my dark self

can only be shed light by the

brightness of your browns 

and stillness of your sunken sockets

until all of me is seen

you can leave in the only way

we know how

May 12, 2013

2.58 AM