A Boy Tries To Take

A boy tries to take

A photo

A kiss

A peice

Immortality

from the moon.

And she says

No

And the moon

Knows too well of

Mans' desire to

Capture and

Simplify beauty

That was not made

To fit

In the palm of a hand

Or

Under a pane of glass

Laid too close to skin

Suffocating.

Left

To collect dust

On the wall.

Just another galaxy of impossibility,

Tamed and

Framed.

And so

She is content to rest in poems

And in the gleam in lovers eyes

And in the path of midnight travellers.

At peace in the ocean of the night sky.

Free to slip back into the waves

At her leisure.

Dripping in wishes

Tossed into the well of the darkness.

Drowning in ethereal promises

Owed to

No one.

And in photographs she yields nothing,

Knowing all her magnificence

Will not be reduced to a pocket sized

Rendering of her infinity.

As though to say,

You cannot

Have me

You cannot

Keep me

You cannot

Recreate

My

Luminescence

By trying

To

Take it.

Did you think

I would make my

Cosmic unfathomability

Fit

Within 4 lines

For you?

Did you think

You could just

Take me home

With you?

Without

Asking?

As though to say,

Nice

Try,

Love.

As though to say,

In

Your

Dreams.

I lost track of the wounds

In the end

The only one that mattered

Was the one you gave me

In the end

The only one that mattered

Was you

In the end

It was the betrayal that slaughtered me

Before the blood loss

When your eyes sliced into my soul

Puncturing the vital organ

I was dead before your blade parted flesh

Ghost before my body hit the ground

~

In the end

My final breath

An exhale of your name

That still tasted like home on the tounge

My blood forgetting to be afraid

In your familar palms

~

But if I am spirit

Why I am the one haunted?

By you

Or some part of you that perished

With me

Begging for mercy

I do not know how to grant you

~

And if you lived

Why did I find you

Haunting your own shell

When I returned to

Forgive you

~

~And Caeser Thinks: If Betrayal Is A Kiss, I am Glad I Tasted It Last From Your Lips

Inhale me and keep me there

And there is nothing left unsaid, and yet a million things unheard. The chasm between us widening and deepening and every word tumbles down into the depths and we remain. Sore throats and hoarse voices and strained eyes trying to make out the details of your face that drift farther away with each passing eternity. And I suppose, that we could jump. But who knows what awaits us? How far we will fall. If We will hit the bottom alive. If we will drown in the accumulated sea of sentences that have amassed over the years. If we will see each other the same in the darkness. If we will ever resurface.

But I will jump first. If only to know it will be your voice that drowns me. If only to attempt to consume everything you ever tried to say before it devours me instead. If only to be suffocated by your truth. If only to be laid to rest here, amongst the sins we birthed together. Here, next to the slowly disintegrating corpse of our love. And perhaps I will never know peace. But I will have known the whole of you, And that would have been enough.

The ache always taste familiar

Oddly comforting

And I brew it like a cup of tea

On the nights I cannot sleep

Sip it Gently

And wait for it to lull me to bed

What is a woman if not a smile in the face of a storm

What is a woman if not the storm

If not the crechendoing tempest and

The ethereal melody that somehow never loops back again

Unpredictable familiar rhythm

If not lilting music box laughter

A cacophony of karma

What is a woman if not an expanse of endless possibly

If not a universe in static motion

If not the duality of an ocean

In all her calm lethality

Her peaceful wild

In all her vastness and instiabilty and depths never to be discovered

What is a woman if not a warning to be careful what you wish for

If not a walking contradiction

A winding metaphor

An invitation to drown yourself amongst her depths

All sin and

Salvation and

Sacrifice

All risk and

Reward and

Redemption

If not the remembering and the revenging

What is a woman if not salacious second chances

If not doubting into oblivion only to be resurrected over and over

And Over Again

If not myth and martyr and miracle

If not warrior and wish and whim

What is a woman if not ravaged battlefield and a bullet wound just clotting

A freshly dug grave that still smells like flowers and earth and possibility

If not stitches pulled taunt and the soft skin of a scar

If not delicately crafted battle wound

If not the art of unbreaking

What is a woman if not a champagne toast and red wine stain

If not shattered glass and shards that will lodge themselves under your fingernails

What is a woman of not midnight blaze and forest fire and funeral pyre

What is a woman if not

burning

burning

burning

What is a woman if not waist curved like a flame

What is a woman if not

Anything she wishes to be.