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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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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heat is in me,
humidity clawing out:
the promise of london rain unspoken.
birds fail to chirp outside your window,
heat stifles life
take up the whole of your bed;
Posted in excerpts
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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.
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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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i won’t wait on you,
but not because i don’t want to:
maybe i would have done on any other day—
that’s not to say that i don’t hate
standing at the train station waving at a departing train.
it’s not me, you understand?
in me there’s always an impulse to chase it.
just water, baby, to chase it.
just water, a silent drizzle of impending rain:
it’ll wash the world off your shirt—
and i will smell crisp cotton again.
Posted in excerpts
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