it’s time for answers. or questions. whichever.
a fellow writer inspired me to think about a few. and they started the clock tick-tocking inside my mind: what did a girl like me want anyhow? what is the dream, the true ideal?
1. i’d like a picture of you on my windowsill by my bed: to keep, to hold, to treasure. it will be my reminder that you exist and when i wake up in the middle of the night, wondering if i dreamt up my whole life, i want it there to touch. it’ll be solid in my hands. a relic. and it’ll be in a mosaic picture-frame we’ve yet to buy. in barcelona or in paris (just because i like the way you say it) or in a magic place far away.
2. i’d like to have you on call, running to me whenever i need you there and sometimes just because. you know: for no reason, just because i want to be in your arms where it’s never lonely.
3. and i want you to have eyes for nobody else but me, following me, stalking me, penetrating me anew with every gaze. i want them to ask me for affirmation of my love every morning and i want them to drown me whole, as if they were not eyes but lagoons of clear-blue water in devon, on hot summer afternoon, when all you want is to immerse yourself whole in water .
4. but more than anything, i’d like to know that this is where you want to be: here with me.
5. that will be all.
Posted in chapters of my life
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soar!
above the mountains, touching rooftops
where dreams are made through Kais and Gerdas of tonight,
their flowers – moondust
eclipsing the broken shells of sky.
i tell you, soar,
as if there was no tomorrow – who knows
if there will be a today.
i see horizon cracking at the edges, burdened with heavy clouds
of rain. cumulative correlation of cumulous clouds.
the very thought is raining on me.
so build your wings, Icarus:
i keep one eye in those clouds to watch over your flight.
as though you might not make it.
Posted in excerpts
Tagged above, as, be, broken, build, burden, clouds, correlation, crack, cumulative, cumulous, dreams, dust, eclipse, edges, eye, flight, flower, gerda, heavy, horizon, icarus, if, it, kai, keep, know, made, make, me, might, moon, moondust, mountains, no, not, on, one, over, poems, poetry, raining, rooftops, see, shells, sky, soar, tell, the, their, there, those, though, thought, through, today, tomorrow, tonight, touch, veryt, watch, where, who, will, wings, you, your
can still taste your lips,
remnants of last kiss
coating mine
with the
finest
sprinkling of sugar.
yearn for you,
waves of desire
crashing
by the shore
and feel your touch:
sweet blossom,
your scent: rosewater
in the hollow of your neck.
lay here,
imprint of you
embedded, solid
by my side
in spite of distance.
can love you from
afar.
no puedo escapar.
nor would i want to.
Posted in excerpts
Tagged afar, blossom, can, coating, crash, desire, distance, embedded, escapar, feel, finest, from, here, hollow, imprint, kiss, last, lay, lips, love, mine, neck, no, nor, of, poems, poetry, puedo, remnants, rosewater, scent, shore, side, solid, spite, sprinkling, still, sugar, sweet, taste, touch, want, waves, with, would, yearn, you, your
our fifth month together and all i’ve given you for our anniversary is a revelation of my secret admirer and some of the passion in me.
my english boy. the english boy.
have i told you i always searched for that blonde, blue-eyed and tall perfection?
you’re not blonde and he’s not tall. but it’s you that got me sussed.
if this was a myth, you’d be poseidon reigning me in and he’d be a young soldier, soft features made of marzipan. i, i would be a siren, luring with words and laughter, light touch of my fingers on his a cheek, my toes dipping through the waters of your realm.
so now you know.
and he’s got a girlfriend : clever, but not as clever as me; irresistible but easy. and i’m not. well, not the latter.
so hand me his head on a platter.
i’ll serve him up a game that he can’t win.
i just wish you didn’t know.
his anonimity was something sacred, special. one song i left unsung. so i’ll confuse you, make you doubt all i’ve told you. one can never be too safe in grips of love. and my love for you has spilled over the bank. a scarlet flood.
still, i will be a spy in the house of love.
but as a siren.
and both of you will see me and breathe me in. now that you know each other, you will do so together.
and S will join you.
three’s company, two is none.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged admirer, all, always, anniversary, anonimity, bank, blonde, blue, both, breathe, can't, cheek, clever, company, confuse, dip, doubt, each, easy, eye, features, fifth, fingers, flood, game, girlfriend, given, grips, hand, head, him, house, i, in, irresistible, join, know, latter, laughter, left, light, love, luring, made, marzipan, me, month, myth, never, none, now, one, other, our, over, passion, perfection, platter, poseidon, prose, realm, reign, revelation, sacred, safe, sailor, scarlet, search, secret, see, serve, siren, soft, some, something, song, special, spilled, spy, still, sussed, tall, that, this, three, through, toes, together, toghether, told, too, touch, two, unsung, waters, will, win, wish, words, would, writing, you, young
can you tell me, why de ja vu haunts me like a predator stalking its only surviving prey? the de ja vu, embossed with its frenchness. just like you. just like those kisses you plant on my lips, their buds opening in the middle of the darkest nights, as i wake in cold sweat, clammy hands turning on the lights to chase the demons away.
and i realise, that love is french, italian, dominican. but more than that, it’s foreign to all of us. it’s language – mysterious hum in the early-morning air, it’s lands – unbounded by borders, it’s people waking up every morning, just like the rest of us, seductive scent of coffee in their kitchens, shatter of broken cups imprinting its echo on the windows.
and when i think of love, i think of the mess that coffee would make, drops collecting, puddle spreading with every beat of the heart. my mess.
and it doesnt touch you. you’re not really here. not entirely.
and love doesn’t cut you with its broken china or stain your slippers with instant coffee, fresh those marble tiles.
does it touch you at all?
…
it’s been three months now and i’ve nothing to tell me that i’m yours, only a herbarium of those flowers you bought me the day my mother went to the zoo with my little sister in tow.
only a dead plant, in an envelope somewhere, next to Y’s unopened loveletters and the note that X kissed so that a part of him may remain with me forever, or whatever his reasoning was.
and at night, in somebody’s kitchen, in a land far away, my heartbeat keeps the coffee flowing.
Posted in chapters of my life
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glittering soot on her eyelashes 