since before i loved you,
i dreamt of your eyes:
two slices of blue gulf
stripped along the horizon,
with a million years of rain.
i wanted them before i knew you,
only they can penetrate me
with the force of a thousand burning suns.
i can feel them on my lips
through the sound of your breathing.
i love therefore i am.
sometimes i find it tough to show you that you’re the only one that matters in this life. and here you are: here i am.
Posted in excerpts
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a vibrant note of a harpsichord flies in: a coloured bird, a richly feathered parrot. i feel alive; a spark travelling down a strip of litmus paper, exhuberantly coloured, incadescently moving.
such highs and lows of mine, such cirles in the eyes. infinity of life? π?
i hate mathematics, but i refuse to adore a man who does not love its obtuse, precisely measured form. i want a boy with a logical way of thinking, the kind who won’t leave you hanging by a word in the dark. i would rather compose the long silences myself, make them stem from the fullness of my mouth and the soft silk of my thighs.
lately, i have said too much about S. it is enough.
he is too cold, a firefly without the carnal fire. i should like to see him cultivating life.
Posted in chapters of my life
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he did not recieve the text. good. so we chat. friends, not lovers, that we are: i question him of things and he shares his good news with me. at midnight. not that i didn’t ask him to, but he doesn’t bother informing you. funny?
relieved, i don’t think of the saved blushes and the heat does not rise to my cheeks: it doesn’t need to.
a sigh escapes like a fly through the open window, its wings no longer beating against the cold clear pane of glass.
phone on, i wait to hear a beep. from you or him, it hardly seems to matter.
i sleep lightly as of late, or as of early. since our trio of sleepover nights, it’s been better, but sometimes, i will wake up in the night and think you are with me, curled up on the floor.
no longer an insomniac, i don’t know how to classify myself. i want a tidy name to sum it all up. there isn’t one.
i’m on the edge right now and it’s nothing to do with the pair of you. my future lies within these very moments, encapsulated in the smell of old books and pheromones surging.
i call the number. it is busy. so i call again.
right now, all i care about is that the phone is picked up and they listen to me, if even for a while.
i heard a no. loud and clear, like a dead weight going into cold blue-black water.
deep, guttural sounds of a storm brewing. but the storm is already over. we lay on the deck and count the stars.
Posted in chapters of my life
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no response. my heart is the silence of the world sleeping.
i barely wrote about him: he never seemed to matter. you are my prince, patience incarnate. often all i need is that little piece of silent tenderness: i am simple but i change with the northerly wind.
all i seem to do is read and sleep: summer brings deep slumber to my senses and burning sun only makes itself felt on the nape of your neck. when my eyes see it, the gently tanned skin colour of sandalwood, an urge from deep within me wants to cradle it with the palms of my hands, feel its warmth as if through it i shall hold a ray of sunshine, all warm and sensual, taken from a book of mild erotica.
funny how when i felt it last, rejection felt like a consuming fire in every which one of my pores. now, it is a slight breeze tangling up my hair, soft sand in my eyes, thorny roses brushing against a scab: strangely seperate from me.
you think i can’t see the pain in your eyes. true, you hide it well, but i know you and i know that i told you that he mattered in more ways than one would care to. i’m sorry.
S is nothing; i am love.
it’s about aesthetics, feeling, about loving contour and form and not it straight lines … and i got too attached to you, S. funny that, i try to live without feeling.
no response. so we learn to fly.
Posted in chapters of my life
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i could implore you with certainty,
dream on a dream of reality
could be a doll de porcelana
in the whites of your eyes.
i could pretend my uncertainty
was not acerca de ti
but rather a circle you see
in the mud of my eyes.
*de porcelana –made of china / porcelain
*acerca de ti –about you
*podía. si. – i could have. yes.
Posted in Uncategorized
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we change. why do we do that? tell me truthfully and without needless words.
i spoke to you in a language you did not understand, in hope that your eyes would tell me what your lips couldn’t. in the end, your hands spoke, holding my flesh as if it were a vessel brimming with the very water of life.
i wonder how and why we have come to this river where the past merges with the future and washes over the present. more importantly, how did i leave Y behind with all his unread letters; and how did you find me amongst all the other grains of sand?
i’ve listened to too many sad songs, heard too many excuses and i spoke to Y on friday.
he came out with a gem when i told him that really, i had never lied to him, never told him i’ll be yours forever. he told me that he never lied either. a lie is something that is said with the intention of deceit.
clever boy. pah!
i stick to my two plus two: all my past hurt equals you. and i’m thankful.
and between the lapses in translation i’m convinced that nothing matters but me and you and your hands. they will find me all over again.
Posted in chapters of my life
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