Fare thee well

These empty spaces, these lonely hours, these thirsty places in the darkened corners of my heart,
They make me want to leave I tell you, they make me want to shut these doors, damage control,
This place settles into me like the cigarette smoke, that so prettily did unfurl from the curve of your lips, now on me stale and nauseating,

I hate that I feel like this without you, like the bulging purple of veins of a neck that's being throttled,
I hate that I live to catch the fragments, like a junkie trying to purloin from a malevolent drug lord,
I hate that I feel like curling up and dying, because my senses are fading, eyes closing, heart slowing,

My heart feels wrinkled, like fingers that have soaked in water far too long, from leaking pain in a the colour of rain,
My fingers are trembling, like lips that have been crying for days and days, for they cannot reach out and touch you,
My lips are parched, like the cracked soles of my dust laden feet, for the lack of your desire-drenched mouth on mine,
My feet are swaying, like hair strands caught in the frigid winter wind, for they cannot carry my body over to yours,

And although I wonder if this love will be my undoing, I fear it will, I know it could, I trust it shall,
I cannot get off this train, I cannot break this ligature, I cannot shut this door... I will always lead you in,
look wide-eyed when your body meets my embrace, as your mouth whispers entreaties to mine,
as your electric soul ripples through my core, as your heart blankets the shuddering closets of mine,
So, here I am, here I will be, here shall I lie, debilitated, until once more you find me.

Gypsy Soul Sister

Wild child, life free..
Rise may you each day, meeting roads not paved but cobbled with tiles of adventure,
Find may you one who loves each curl on your head and every kink inside your mind,
Wide-eyed, may you live in wonder, hands in the air, tracing the lace of the clouds in the sky,
Smile may you, white teeth flashing, at the zaniness of every blip along the way,
Open may your heart be, ever the welcoming doors, to the love that is all around you,
Sashay may you, never hurried, especially when losing you way is means to finding yourself,
Tread may you lightly, wisps of footprints in your wake, never bleeding for the need to belong,
Dream may you with abandon, fearlessly and hopefully, weave them gently into a gilded future,
Ache may you for that which flavors your ardent mind, your fervid soul, yet never with futile despair,
Rage may you against the battle-wounds of love that has turned to war, never lay down your arms,
Meander may you through every new journey. breath baited and wings unfolding for fight,
Soar may you through open skies of boundless possibilities and countless exploits, unbridled by strife,
Wild child, live free.....
.... love hard, dream big, dance, sway to your own intoxicating drumbeat.....

Te amo mi amor

It's easy to say 'I love you', isn't it?
It's easy to let the moment play in your hair, like the wind, cool and comforting,
It's easy to gush and swell with magnanimity, in a single luxurious expulsion of breath,
It's easy to swish those words in your mouth, like a full-bodied wine, deep-red and heady,
........
How about what it's like to watch your face so closely, your heartbeat flutters inside of my wrist,
How about the pink tidal wave inside me, effervescent champagne-flush rising, at the briefest touch,
How about what it's like to hold on to the seconds with you as they slip like the moon into the morning,
How about the gutting hurt I can hear in the first syllable of your heavy footstep, out the door,
How about the time warp we slip into slipping into each other, the world dissolving like salt in water,
How about fingers and palms, bones and muscles, curves and edges match groove to groove, lock to key,
How about that voice of yours that trickles tenderly through my head, rain through drought-dried land,
How about the plundering torpedo through my heart, my entire viable universe in another's careless arms,
.........
How about that love? I hope you know, I know you know, 'I love you' just doesn't begin to cover it.....

Legends of Long Gone

I wonder what they would say about us, you and me, after our time, 

would they say we were friends? Would they deem us mere strangers?

would they assume us in between... two disconnected oars of a wretched boat?

Shall we leave a note love? Shall we leave the world this legacy of ours?

or....

Will the stars know how we traced our shared future into their glittering dust?

Will these barren streets testify our forbidden trysts, just beyond their corners?

Will this desolate bed resound to echo the rhythm of our frenzied dancing?

Will the dust motes carry word through sun beams, of the hurt in their width's distance?

Will the waters gush loquaciously, of feet, yours and mine, yours and mine, sinking into the sand?

Will the drawn curtains reminisce how my body was cocooned in yours, my tears on your cheek?

Will every second that kept us apart clash with every second that brought us together....

for the right to testify the fervor, the right to the aphorism of our oneness, the right to call us lovers?

Or...

will they think us friends, deem us strangers, or suspend us in between, oars thrown into the sea?

Trojan Heart

So here is the thing, This love is not a master plan, it is not disaster proof, nor has a panic room,
there are no fire escapes or convenient back doors,
This love is an absolute, or another word that means a definitive of definitives,
I didn't chart this course we set sail on, only to my compass you have always been the North Star,
I didn't look at the dog-eared, puckered map closely, only lines the years have etched on you playfully,
I didn't draw out the papers, bullet proofed, with the rules, the boundaries and the crafty loopholes,
I didn't mull over you and me, until I saw your brown wide-eyes in the depths of my first cup of tea,
I didn't consider the gravity of your existence, until the trees back home whispered your voice to me,
I didn't make too much of your touch, until the warm, summer-rain washed down the deepest-deep of me,
So no, this wasn't the plan, this wasn't the deftly calculated move,
all I know is this, there was an anarchy within me, passionately endorsed by every vital  atom,
And it overthrew the governance of any logic, giving countenance to the paroxysm-driven exultation that is YOU. 

Never say bye

It takes me back you know, to a faraway kitchen, in the village of fireflies and paddy fields,
Where the drunken old bard of a river, gurgles and tumbles, maniacal, beside the sober rubber trees, 

On an archaic wood fire, a spice-laden broth simmers, producing billows of charcoal smoke,

Flushed with the tongue-tingling essence of curry, ginger, dry roasted coconut,

Of garlic, cloves and cinnamon sticks, of shallots and of coriander-cumin mists, 

So dressed up, the smoke rises, cloaking her charred-wooden perspiration with flourish, 

Perched in the stalemate of the tiled roof, she spots the yellowed square of dusk-en glow,
Lighting up the browned abyss of the ceiling, the window glitteres, beckoning,
Unsuprisingly, the smoke meets only glass, withered hopes of passage into light, dissolve in silken threads,
Wisps of its former self, floating, thwarted and broken, into the deep beyond the cobwebbed door,
In that memory, I see the beauty of heartbreaking longing, of silent depair, of doggone tiredness,
the dried flower, the shadow of a vibrant life, tucked between crumbling pages,
the creaky boat, with the aching oars, that have no hope against the storm,
the wings of the butterfly, devastatingly wiped out by the rescuing fingers' touch,
the lonesome White owl, unheedingly hooting at the cloaked, elusive moon,
the old brass key, in a heavily lined hand, bereft hopes of meeting its only lock,
the hardy tear, that fought will and worth, to escape the melancholy of the eye,
The narcissistic candle, burning itself to a smouldering puddle, all for the flamboyant flame,
There is something to be said for the hopeless love, for love-drunk hope, for the marriage of both,
There's something to be said for the tenderils of scent, in the withered leather of a watch strap,
Of the yellowed pages of a children's book, slouching at their aged spine,
Of the washed out, bleached-blue, well-worn, threadbare of a slept-in shirt,

A hopeful nostril longingly wanders the surface of all that i have left of you,
Unwrapping, once more, the faint and fleeting frangance, of charred-wood smoke.