its golden

do you ever wonder if you could silence me completely?
   if i should run out
of words to say, one day
   if you could make me gasp
                        make all the words in my heart--
                    







(perhaps, one day, when you kiss me.)

sword clash

i have been fighting for the longest time
enough wars to make your hearts break

                  [dawn and dusk
                        mother and father
                   sibling and child
                          ; the darkest of all crusades
                                 the most righteous of all jihad ]

   i would fight a thousand more
                         a thousand more

                                  if i could fall like a star
               or angel
                             (there isn't too much of a difference; both are so far away)

       into you
                        ; my home.
                  (heaven,
                                 jannah)

make ends meet

we live our lives waiting to die
        they say
i'm living my life,
 waiting for you
                          (is that a kind of death, too?)

but isn't it morbid,
   to start with the end?

but what are you and me
  but a collection of loose moments
and words
    and touches

      and accidents? (i didn't mean to love you
                               you don't mean to let me.)

should i talk instead about how you
feel like
             sunlight
taste like
                the rain
                on my skin? does that make it easier for you?

(we have enough endings by now
                 to start something new.)

racing

spectres haunt my peripheries
as the road coughs up dirt(

there's a pulse racing
between my fingertips
but it's n
ot yours.)

the finish line is here
dangling over the edge of a cliff.

                                                       some leap of faith.

hooded

sunburnt scarlet skies
fleeing as fierce
emerals emerge
heralding the hues
of sapphire to sink in.

sienna eyes drinking in,
flooding with cut glass,
cool hard translucence
against leather against skin.

earthy work boots planted
firmly on inky stretch of metal,
headlight eyes flickering shut
reprieve from the thousand star
glare.

kiss-starved lips pucker up
to wrap around the bottle neck,
expectant gushing, bland, bitter
beer,
intoxicated.

tipped back, black waterfall,
curls tumble over,
pale column as an altar offering,
breaths leaving like smog,
like prayers form a cynic.

lacquered nails
tap out the low, lusty
lumbering drumbeats,
light movement on
the sleek, slick
'67 chevy impala.

harp song
carries the melody away
drumbeats
out of
place.

sunburnt sienna eyes
flicker shut
as red recedes
golden pendulum swinging
dragging a curtain of almost cobalt
more like peacocks
fanning out
yellow blurs like stars
tormenting.

snow angels

i'm drawin' little snow angels
on your frosty windows

you've got the A/C on high
and the radio's nothing but static

each raindrop thuds against my fingers
and my pulse, in venn

your misty exhalation brushes across my bare legs
little ghost kisses as you switch the dial from FM to off

i burrow into my cocoon of cotton and candy and cutting words
and flowers and elegance and dior flood the air

your lips, as red as my eyes, press thin to stop a litany of my name,
and a little golden shackle, glares at me.

burnt opals

liquid sapphire drips away into
a blood red ruby
bevelled burning opal
(dips and furrows darkened
by the opaque night)
sneaking down to meet
jagged jutting topaz
rays tumbling over each other
to press fleeting, shy kisses
burning opals
illuminated.

and liquid sapphire drips away
                                              away
                                                      away
                                                                                                  away
as blood red ruby
floods the sky.

smitten

there's a milkyway pooling

in the indentations of my heels

and the air's a little thick with lust,

                                     with static,

                                     with stardust,

the back of your knees bump mine

and there's a thunderstorm gathering

in the small of my back, twisting tight,

your face embraces mine like an old flame

warm, incandescent and affectionate,

and if you're blushing,

                 well,

                        we can always

                                     blame it

                                               on

                                                   the

                                                       damn

                                                              good

                                                                      beer.

con[temporary] lucifer

                you are lucifer beneath my fingernails,
                all proud and sinful and seductive,
                all graceless and broken and wrecked.

silhouettes and shadows spill around us,

like great, sooty wings.

                your howls are in my throat,
                and my heart is on your sleeve,
                and if you squint hard enough,
                headlights can be stars, reflected
                in kaleidoscope eyes.

and cigarette smoke could be moonbeams,

like smoky gabriels to send (m)(y)our

damning thoughts to heaven,

charcoal voice keeping this spit-slicked fire

burning through the night.

                 and if i kiss you, like i could taste
                 your soul, feel it dancing on my
                 tongue, don't judge me.

because you are lucifer beneath my hands,

all spineless, and wrecked and wrecked.

string jupiter

do you know?
                      do you know where you are?


you're here:
                  in the breathy exhalations between my words,
                  in between each line of this novel i'm reading
                  in the little spaces between each electron and nucleus


the memory of your voice
                                        petals pressed on my cheeks


and if your hands fit against mine
                                                   like pieces from different puzzles,
then, well, baby,
                         i won't be the one to mention it.


it's all these names that spill from the column of my throat,
                                                                                       your personal fountain of youth,
keeping you young in this world after it all
                                                                c r a s h e s.
love, heart, mine, sweet, beautiful, angel, 
                                                                  tiger, rose, sayang, amore, more, more more.
no one
           else
i'd
    love


and you're my michael, the prince of all my heaven's,
                                                                                and i'm in rapture.
you're my lucifer, the prince of darkness,
                                                             and spill those slick, sweet secrets from your silver tongue onto mine.

shut up
           i'm almost done


you drive a shiny sleek car,
                                         and i couldn't be bothered to get a license because
there was something about roads,
                                                   and good intentions,
but i can't see past our emerald city,
                                                       we were never in kansas, dorothy.




how do i forget you,
                               when you're everything?


tell me that i'm not the only one
                                               that's swallowing this sea up whole
that's drowning from the inside out.


tell me that i'm not the only one
                                               who's so in love it makes you sick
and it's blood and orange and useless little love poems,
                                                                                 curdled up on the blue floor.

tell me that i'm not the only one
                                               who's miserable


i'd string jupiter around my neck,
                                                 and it would kill me quicker than you.
a whole year,
                     what's your poison?


it's a sunny day out,
                             well, i'm watching through blue-tinted windows,
and yeah,
               yeah, baby,
i fucking miss you.

just going on

there's this story you want to tell. you're pretty sure there was a moral and you're pretty sure he'd like it but you can't remember how the story goes. but you're not worried.

it starts like this.
    it starts like this.
        it starts like this.

(i)
you have too many houses and not enough homes and the terracotta buildings have sunk so far into your skin, you don't think the earthy smell will ever leave you alone. your favourite place in the world is with a pair of green eyes and blue ones -- and maybe a brown pair or three, if they're not too busy today -- under a canopy of grey sky and greg the gargoyle.

instead, you've gotta be happy with blue walls and wood panelling and a green door.
             you push it open and fall into a surprised sea.
                                       

and suddenly, you've found a kind of home you've never known.



(ii)

your pulse flutters like there are butterflies trapped under your skin. it would explain the black and blue, wouldn't it? but you bite back the early spring and he smiles at you, soft and slow and symmetrical except for that one dimple in his right cheek, and you kind of stopped breathing ten minutes ago. he says a line -- and you're too slow to wonder now how many women he's used this on, how many women he's been with, how many women he's loved -- and you can only blink as he runs because, when the fuck did you ever become something worth pulling a line on anyway?

                he runs,

                and you've always, always been good

                                                                          at hide and seek,

                so you chase him down,

                and make the biggest

                                                                          mistake of your life,

                because he was playing tag and you

                                                                          aren't too great at that,

                sweetheart.

(iii)

there's a purple dress and a beautiful woman and you don't know who she is. the silver lining to every cloud and sea and mirror but you just want to rip it out of this one, turn it into a cloak and make yourself this gorgeous forever. there's a purple dress and a beautiful man and one night to make it real. your face would match your dress if anyone found out but you think he's worth the risk he's worth everything this is all for you.

you buy a pair of black stilettos and a flower clip,

and your best friend buys you a velvet purse.

                                                                              there

                                                                                       are

                                                                              three weeks left.

(iv)

she talks to you till four a.m.,

and you write him mocha letters in red ink

of all the things you can't say,

                                            it's short and concise,

because that's what he taught you,
and experience teaches you best.

(v)

you feel like you're about to puke all over his perfect, cream floor. he wouldn't get offended even if you did because it feels like there's glass clawing it's way from your heart and out your throat to decorate his floors with miserable crystals.

there's a purple dress and a beautiful moment where you hoped it would be different.
you were wrong again.


(vi)
he's the kind of guy who gets lost in the details but never forgets he's in a painting and he's drowning in it, you know, drowning in colours. and you, you're the kind of girl who paints and paints but never gets it right; there's always something wrong. he'll tell you it's this dot over here, why is it here? and you'll say, that's the dot, the dot that's you and how you make me feel and everything that you are and he'll still say why, why is it here? and how do you explain then?

you don't.

(vii)
you've never been good at holding things together; not yourself, not her and not anything else. and he can't keep it going; not himself, not her and not anything else. he's a beautiful man in a blue shirt and things are falling apart. you think that if you press your fingertips into his bare back enough, that maybe the whorls on your thumb could be enough of a map.

but there is no map to doing this right,
and you're both doing it wrong.

(viii)
you've never been whole,
but he's pretty fucking broken too.
(he's fucking pretty broken too)

and, maybe, all of your pe i c es will fit together and you wouldn't need to be fine, or whole, or flawless, or perfect. maybe, you could both just be you.

hope is the most fragile thing,
and it presses angel kisses to your sternum,
flickering with each of his smiles.

flying colours

i think i'd like to make you a science.

at least then, i could recreate p e r f e c t l y the blue of your eyes,
                                                                        the gold of your heart,
                                                                              the tornado of your thinking.

i think i'd like to make you a math.

i could recreate a c c u r a t e l y the angle of your strength,
                                                       the slope of your shoulders,
                                                             the factors of your soul.

i think i'd like to make you a song,

i could recreate e x a c t l y the depth of your voice,
                                                the shards of your ego,
                                                      the glint of your sincerity.

i think i'd like to make you into something

quantifiable,

measurable,

tangible

but i'm glad you're not

this way, all these moments are frozen

just for me.

flutter

you're so close that i think that i could just s

                                                                  i

                                                                    n

                                                                      k

into your alabaster skin; so that the blue

of your trainers pools an ocean around

my feet, so that the beige of your trousers

melts into me like cream on coffee, so that

the red of your shirt spreads like a blush

across me.

and now i ask, how do i tell you?
there's silver fire and gold ice in
eternal salsa across my skin; all
that from just a smile.

how do i tell you?

my mind is in a perpetual autumn; 

monotone,  sepia leaves falling to the ground,

gathering up like gold dust,

or just plain old dust.

all it takes if for you to leave the room,

and it all disintegrates, you know,

all those beautiful, effervescent thoughts i have,

thoughts i could sew into stupid little love poems.

you're so close that i think,

butterflies will fly o u t of my mouth,

instead of the words i should be saying,

with the way you make my p ul s e

flutter.

almost-burnt apple pie

1.
so, there was this car. it was a nice car. black. sleek. handsome headlights.
      the only reason i liked it was because the
      thought of you driving it gave me shivers like
                                                   i'm in a personalised winter.

2.
i think it was your eyes that i fell for first, but i won't tell anyone. if i was more poetic, i'd say shit like how your eyes had all the days i pretended to smile and all the nights i cried in them. but i'm not. to be honest, they kind of remind me of my ceiling back when i was ten, the one with the stick-on glow in the dark stars on them.
                      i f
                          e
                             l
                               l for your eyes first, and your soul second and yeah, i can be pretty poetic.

3.
last night i had a dream about our car. you know, the black one. we were lying on the hood and pulling cliches like looking up at the stars. and you let your hands take up the space between mine, like shuffling grains of sand, and i dreamt that you told me you didn't believe in wishes. that, if you wanted something, you'd go out to get it.

i woke up alone.
it wasn't a sad dream.
but i was miserable anyway.

4.
i wanted to tell you something. it was probably something important. but my tongue doubled and twisted like a cherry stem or a vine and squeezed the words to oblivion. oblivion keep those words, oblivion can put those words where all the lost people go, where car keys go when you need them, where your left sock goes after the washing machine. i can make new ones.

they weren't important, anyway.

5.
when you're angry, you smile like knives. i wear the pants in this and i like to say that i'm always the one to find you. i am. but you're always the one to find me. and i'm the only one who's lost. your smile cuts apples into bite sized pieces and i don't lament that we're not adam and eve.

when you're happy, you smile like the sun.
we could bake an apple pie life together, if you'd like.

6.
no one's ever made me cry more than you do. 'broke my heart' is too light but 'breaking me' seems too harsh. you make me want to save myself, 'cause you're sure as hell not doing jack, to put on my rusted armour and fight the lions and wyverns and tarantulas curled around the back of my mind, because i could actually be worth something to someone.

no one's ever made me cry more than you do.
it's weird, but i don't regret anything.

we're going round in circles

1.
    i tried to write you a letter once,
       and i felt like spiders crawled out my throat,
    leaving cobwebs where all those words should've been;

        i tried to pass them off as silk,
     and i've never seen you so terrified.

2.
   you told me you were a growing boy,
      and i could feel you under my skin,
   you bloom, flowers of blue and purple,
      spring time love and part-time lovers,

   it is winter again,
     and you're taller than ever.

3.
  i dreamt that i told you what each crack in my skin meant,
      and you flooded me with your liquid kisses and pacific eyes,
  and called me your sahara.

      your eyes are thirsty now,
  and i am still your sahara.

4.
      the sun leaked blood secrets into the sky,
  and i watched the dawn arrive.
      he told me he loved me,
  and all i could say was goodnight.

5.
  you think you're funny
      and sometimes i think i'm the joke,
  i bite your punchline and fall,

      hook, line and
                             sink her.


6.
      you can't draw and i can't sing,
  but i write you love songs with my lips,
      and you make me mona lisa-smiles with your hands,

  and maybe, we don't need to be perfect,
      just happy.

a/n: sorry for the hiatus. exams and personal issues have reduced my muse to a whimpering mess.

bundle of joy

our skin and eyes and lips meet,
in a little bundle of electric blue.

we call him daniel.

jumping in puddles

moonlight's stifled by the choking curtains,
and it's something like love, something like heartache,
that curls around my heart, curls around my thighs.

i think, if i could bottle up all the empty wishes i had for you,
the pacific would look like a puddle.

spiced wine poets

add your syllables to my pentameter,

voice like wine; it's a rhyme in thyme.

venice

your tongue twists around mine,

like the r-r-rolling r's in italian.

you are my little italy, savoury skin,

and i'll discover all your canals,

humming mamma mia 

over your bubbling,

in your gondola arms.

poseidon's child

i am an ocean and you broke the moon,

still silent surface like salient sapphires,

you are a drop in me, a ripple in a pond,

leaving no corner untouched or

undisturbed.

i am a river and you are a rock,

swirling over smooth surfaces soundly,

you draw out my unending laughter,

low like a babbling brook,

unrestrained.

i am a waterfall and you are the edge of the world,

staccato stuttering as blue is crushed,

you make me hold my breath, leap of faith,

as i tip over you, spilling, falling,

endlessly.

i am water and i am flooding

the whole wide world

for you.