poem

Mine

I wanted to make you mine
As mine as the rings wrapped around my fingers,
spiraling down with metallic fire sounds.

Mine like my breath steaming the edge of a glass
as I sip tears of peonies in a scented tea wave.

Mine like the sun on my skin during hot summer days,
soaked in my pores, in my hair and my eyes.

Closer to skin than the softest of silks,
Sticking my sharp teeth in your flesh
and licking temptations like drops off your neck.

I wanted to make you mine like the firm grip
of a silky rope tightening around your wrists,
suffocating all will, leaving you dormant;
a morphing insect;
until the sweet release floods new blood through your veins.

I wanted to make you mine just for a while
with red wine as an hourglass, measuring time
reading hours of daylight on your skin like a solar clock
ticking away the days from within.

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poem

still unforgotten

She sleeps with the stillness of deep dark waters
silently witnessing days change and seasons unfold.

I see-saw at her bedside, alone,
wailing an anchoring ‘wake-up’ refrain,
as minutes dilute into dull hours
in this endless morning with no sense of reason.

Warm air fills up my lungs
with a choking musty smell of bedsheets.
My fingernails split as I pull the rough fabric
wrapped around the smelly blob of flesh
I refuse to call mother.

The years pass and the madness thickens.
I’m lying to nobody, but myself when I mutter ‘I hate you’
Faced with the failed expectations
of a much younger self.

I ran so far away, only to see you reflected
in the twisted love of others,
wrapped around my neck
like poisonous tentacles of a thorny plant.

Your hands tried to fill the cracks in the wall,
but you see…it’s too late.
A house with no footing is nothing but crumbling hope.
It’s inevitable history when time travel’s gone wrong.

Though blurry years squeezed by,
I felt the longing for love of a child
Obscure and precious,
like an abandoned shrine in the desert.

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poem

outwards-inwards

Who do you run to

when your feet sink into the floor,

when your arms feel heavy,

when your body won’t listen and your mind is a blur?

Where do you seek connection

when you disconnect from your core?

Who finds the gift of your power at their feet

on their doorstep?

How do you take your infinite greatness back,

when you can’t even remember the long sequence

of seemingly insignificant moments

when you relinquished your power

to the outside world?

How do you find it, when just like an old book, a scarf or a sweater,

you can’t remember when you last had it and where?

How to trace it back,

when you seem to have forgotten the days, places and people

who got a piece of you,

until you couldn’t find yourself anymore.

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dream-world

Spiraling down

generously thick smoke rings,

I’m late for imaginary gatherings

in my sleep.

 

I breathe repeatedly and shallow

between the blurred boundaries

of a distant reality I used to know in a dream

and of this make-believe ocean I drown in

and resurrect from

day

after day

after

day.

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Climbing down this feisty volcano never gets old.
Moving out of the way with precision is but a lie that unfolds.
When inevitable irrational emotional lava explodes

and its molten force shapes the hard soil of your core –
yes, the one that you thought is as solid as stone
and all set for the road
and all that,

but…ehmm…nope…

Whether you’re dodging projectiles on a very thin rope
or you’re swiping the mess,
climbing down this volcano just never gets old.
Scraping debris and breaking the mould –
it pays off in the end, you don’t have to be told.

You talk to yourself and you hug in your bed,
the pain fades and the echo instead
makes its way into real life and real people:
‘Here I come, don’t be sad.
I got you, you got me, we got this, don’t be mad.’

I know that this love’s not the one that I learned, this one’s rad
It’s the love that I made, that I felt, that I must,
It’s the love that I sculpt while regaining my trust.

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primal madnessrelease

let’s scream together.

let’s scream at midnight, love.

look into my eyes let’s

swallow this opaque darkness and

tell me your

worst fears.

tell me what poisonous

plants wrap around your mind

like

jungle snakes. we’ll

howl at the moon. I’ll

lick your wounds. I’ll

let you tear me apart. I’ll

make a very warm fur coat and I’ll

let you wear me. I’ll

smell like smoke and fresh cut grass.

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cheers.

here’s to the gazillion things you’ll never get to know.

to the short-haired, long-haired, curly-haired, dark-haired people we’ll date.

your love is wonderful, your absence feels like an abstract apocalypse.

thanks for stopping by.

like an old eraser, already broken in half, I’m still functional, but

continuously missing small pieces that leave me

even more broken.

even more whole.

ever so imperfect.

here’s to all to the cozy nights I’ll never drag you to a jazz bar.

to all the wine glasses we’ll never sip from.

to all the bathroom doors we won’t kiss against when drunk.

here’s to your lips,

to my hips,

to the beats to the beasts we turn intothesheets.

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no utopias here.

today you told me you miss her.

in a parallel world, I could have replied with:

here, have a gift bag: plane tickets and paid rents to be whole again

while I’m missing already too many pieces of my heart.

“I just wanna see you happy” – were the only words I could produce

in that horrid second that somehow expanded into forever.

swallowing my tears and feelings like a big bite of food that’s gone bad.

reciprocity suddenly spells utopia.

highly unlikely.

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