Tag Archives: sweet

rusty mailbox

you’ve got that

american blue in the very pits

of your iris,

and sometimes it feels

almost electric

but i know i’ll just end up

with a black eye if i

keep on staring

i’m not usually this brand of rude

but i can’t help it

if i’m cliché suckered

by that beach-at-early-gentle-dusk

kind of blond,

figure i could still taste

sea salt in my throat if i inhaled

hard enough

maybe you’re afloat

waiting for

a false breakwater romance

drowning siren song

with a hateful kinda endearment

and speaking of

you hate sports and my visual arts

but you like virtuous

green heroes

and staying up for 38 hours

and i like monochrome serial shows

and the number of

sweets i could still spell out

if i threw your full name

in an anagram machine and let it

run wild, here’s one:

cotton candy

maybe that’s no fun for you

don’t worry, it’s no fun

for me either

but it’s always fun to dream a bit

afternoon stargazing

spitting grey fur

overthinking about it some more

buttercup, that’s not one

but i quite like it pinned on your hair

if you won’t mind

i don’t live near a garden

but we could always find some way

or another

to quote a reference

for something

you probably don’t listen to—or do you?—

i’m never gonna see it

all in bloom

because now

it’s almost late spring

(summer ’round my axis)

and not fantasy football season

and i think i love you

all the same

so maybe i’ll just stretch

out my stiff spine

write a generic letter with no

return address

and turn the unplugged television on

just to see how it all

pans out.

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Filed under Poetry

caffè e latte

there’s a galaxy

in my coffee

and it’s making it

taste funny

maybe if i stir a

bit and cool it down

then it will taste

more sugary

.

there’s a galaxy

in my coffee

i take mine rather

black, usually

but i might just

go on ahead and

give it a chance to see

if i like it milky.

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Filed under Poetry

Rise and shine, sleepyhead

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Good morning, sunshine.

You are a slow sip of icy coffee on a sweltering summer day, sweet and bitter and decadent and satisfying all at the same time. The yawning sun is barely peeking out of the horizon, still playful and forgiving; bathing you in childish glows and warm reverie. Life is nothing more than a bite of honey-dipped pastry and freshly-made ham and cheese sandwich, a shared table with an aged stranger, a silly dream full of friendship and fast times and flirtation—life is nothing more than fleeting polaroid snapshots of blurry smiles and quiet contemplation. Now melt the ice between your teeth, let the chill run down your lungs, and let the wandering words on your pen speak for themselves.

It is only morning, after all, and the universe is still quite hazy. Breathe it in. Make it last.

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Filed under Prose

Dear Mexican Bean :^)

Voice like an angel wandering lost in hell

Indelible words that cut beyond the teeth

Classic candidness, gentle grin left to tell

Thorns and trickery, twisting tines sweet

Over and past, your chase makes me well

Reprised recovery to sing me back to sleep

.

Feathers and caramel skin clash in shades

Underwater elegance, a bitter promenade

Every story you tell staunches the bleeding

Nevermind forever, momentum is fleeting

To every faded reminiscence we shall cheer

Enamoured by your honesty, a soul worn clear

Stay heartfelt honey, may the tides keep you near.

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Filed under Poetry

initials

dear middle name,

don’t leave me with goodbye

you know i don’t care

much for music for tired eyes

but will they cut me up

into all the tiniest smithereens?

and leave geraniums in

my hair like it’s my sweet sixteen?

.

dear middle name,

i’ll give mine up just for yours

and it’s a funny spelling

one too many c’s and z’s, true

but if we cut it all up and

paste it into something stranger

i’ll leave geraniums in your

lips like we’re still giddy teenagers.

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Filed under Poetry

Sweetest Intimacy

Would you let me

Place my tender hands

On your warm chest

So I could cut you open

With a blunt scalpel

And let my fingers flow

Against your insides

That slippery sensation

Of panicking blood

Against this living flesh

Crushing the oxygen

Tracing lines around your

Lungs like star signs

Of a sky trapped behind

An ivory cage—spare

Me a rib or a vein or two

As my hands shall be

Exploring you way further

Find organs to suture

Or prod you into laughter

Are you ticklish here?

On your stomach, in your

Punctured diaphragm

No need to ask if you have

Got the guts, but don’t

Be heartless, I’ll miss your

Larynx for that chuckle

All before I stain your neck

With the red of your

Slowing aorta, and set you

Free with a final gasp

And just one gentle little snap.

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Filed under Poetry

mousse cakes and milk tea

sweet walk

sweet talks

night steps

and lips red

.

child’s cheer

celebrations

closing down

the tea stores

.

funny tales in

photographs

soft heart cake

another laugh

.

tummy burst

sluggish slow

one year down

and more to go.

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Filed under Poetry

Root Canal

I wonder just how sweet

You’d taste without restrictions

Maybe I was this stupid, I’d

Take the chance and let you in

Hell, maybe I have to be this stupid

Just to actually take the chance

Because the rest of me has always

Been rational and restless

But just never enough to let you go

I’m a bit slow, aren’t I, honey?

Should I let you know what you mean?

Even if that means I crash and burn

And when daybreak crashes over

My thick skull, I’ll scream loud

Enough to wake up the entire world

For what I didn’t know I’ve done

And even though that would

Be the case, I still stupidly wonder

At the very edge of all my wildest dreams

I wonder just how sweet you really are

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Filed under Poetry

a cup of warm tea; and the aftertaste of trauma

Sometimes I feel cold, even paralyzed
My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate…

~*~

the bitter of tea, the tang of lemon—and that subtle hint of summertime sweetness, melting into my tongue in one drowsy haze.

paint-stained hands clutch at the warm mug for dear life, and i take tentative sips and let the aromatic seasons dance around my mouth a bit, as if this very dark liquid itself was my final tether to this plane of existence.

perhaps, in some ways, it quite is.

the effect of sleepiness arrives to swoop me back in sluggishly, allowing me to momentarily lean back and stare blankly at the faces on the wall, all eager teeth and pastel craft paper, curling and fading all the way to wandering oblivion; but only a single smile really captured my absent mind’s attention. i wryly picture how it would look against later impressions of dirty blonde and crystalline azure, peeking rather shyly behind deep laugh lines and a few animated freckles peppered across pale skin, endearingly elusive.

sinking in; and sinking still. the effervescent mania that violently grabs me by the shoulders and dares to push its reckless fingers right in the middle of my tender ribcage, refusing to cease digging around until it finally hits something vital. lung, artery—the unfortunate heart itself, perhaps?

but—as i am melancholically assuaged—i am sure it will find only a hollow cavity where a beating organ used to rest. disappointed? not really. i’m painfully aware that already long ago have i been deemed one of the young naivetes who willingly sold it away, to someone who didn’t even know they were searching for damaged antiques. i practically gave it away for nothing.

and yet, where is it now?

is it gathering cracks and dents in someone’s mantlepiece, within a dusty old bungalow? is it buried lost under a child’s messy closet, along with broken toys and past innocence and all their other outgrown things? perhaps, has it already been traded away by its secondhand owner without a brief hesitant thought or a pause of chagrin, in exchange of a better, prettier, newer one?

ah, no matter…no matter. i no longer feel it anymore, anyhow.

cosmic snapshots. a feline grey and glimmering yellow eyes. lilting snatches of an unwritten song dedicated to the moon. murky rain dripping rhythmically from the plastered holes on the ceiling. a perfect pink photograph more potent than any flavour of tea or dosage of coffee, keeping me up well into the witching hours and then some. just another wordless poet. just another tired pen.

your bitter blue. my summertime sadness. the promise of morning, and nothing else.

~*~

And you know
You’re a terrible sight
But you’ll be just fine…

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Filed under Prose

clutter

you are mania

and sad playlists

and pencil-sketched lips

.

you are sweetness

and cold headaches

and portraits, unfinished.

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Filed under Poetry