Maybe the difference lies entirely in perspective

I see the winter tree, seemingly lifeless and barren, a hopelessly sad thing

The tree, having shed all—leaves, flower, fruit, and burden—has never felt more free

 

Of late my heart feels like a house
that's been left locked-up and empty too long
Visitors appear occasionally
Some to see if they can live here
Others to satisfy some arbitrary curiosity
They leave marks in the wrinkle-less sheets of dust
Only for time to smoothen them out afresh
The ghosts of the past never leave though
They are here to stay and to drive the visitors away
They are the friendly kind though, even with their haunting ways,
They keep the ghosts of tomorrow and the marks the dust won't protect at bay

Gentle, be gentle

For everything moves when you do

As you forge a path among the slim reeds

Some bend and sway while others snap at the neck

For everything moves when you do

 

Gentle, be gentle

You are billions of atoms displacing hundreds of billions of them

Everything you touch or don’t is moved by your existence

The life you lead is happening to so many others too

For everything moves when you do

 

Gentle, be gentle

Everything you’ve ever said and done and thought

Everything you will ever say and do and think

Is an arrow shot in the dark bursting into a million more

For everything moves when you do

 

Gentle, be gentle

The hubris of brash youth, it may not seem a vice 

Putting yourself first, every day and every night

You leave prints, cast your shadow, a you-shaped bruise

For everything moves when you do

 

So gentle, be gentle

 

 

 

A debauchee’s ode to self-love

All I have known of loving men is emotional labour

And by that, I mean back-breaking, soul-sucking toil

Oh, the relief of carrying nothing but yourself

Oh, the relief of taking nothing but pleasure from their sex

So, I put on my scarlet negligee under my ‘third-date’ dress 

That hugs my ass and rides up my thighs and slide on

A miniscule thong and my reddest, wettest lipstick for him

To eat off my face like dessert when I meet him at midnight

We’ve only just been shooting words so far, and yet

You can hear the pistons firing from a mile away

There’s no shame; even a brief, sweaty glow of coital elation

What he lacks in niceties, he makes up for in hunger and

With his fingers and tongue and all that phenomenal foreplay

Even after all this is over, there is no sense of either longing or loss

(Bonus: I've always wanted to fuck to David Gilmour’s solo

You know, the transcendental one at the end of High Hopes?)

All the while, I keep myself safe; there is no danger of love

(No, don’t correct me; it’s a veritable fucking danger) 

But humans are creatures of habit; so, if we are doing this

It must be punctuated – by time or space or both

Or the new old(er) guy who needs to tell me I’m a goddess 

Although I'm already wrapped around his hips and wondering

How not to roll my eyes; instead, I roll away after I’ve had my fill

Leave the bed tousled and unmade and back the way I came 

The night air, cold and crisp, embraces me once again

(Just as he did behind the surreptitiously-held-open door)

Alone again, a giggle escapes my lips, waking the watchman

The jubilation of knowing that I’m my own and no one else’s

Deliberately marching only to the sounds of my mind’s voice

Heck…everything else is noise, everything else is noise