Screaming in an empty house.
No one says anything here anymore, I doubt they even stop by.
It suddenly frees me for anything.
I suddenly remembered today - that I have not written poetry in years. I think the Mumbai Triptych, more than a year ago was the last.
This is not the best.
I
it wasnt you, that i had wanted
in the beginning of this night
but as it winds down in the usual spiral
of puke and regret
i am drawn
moth to blinding sunflare.
I would do much to possess you
break arms and legs,
lie about who else i am fucking
follow you like a drunk
very drunk lapdog.
eventually
when you hold my hand
allowing me to lead you into the sands.
dont forget to bring along
the boxes filled with your pasts
written in nights such as this.
I just really want to look inside.
II
Why you do me like that my love
Why you show up in other pieces of skin.
I had shorn you from my dreams
My words, my world
physically.
Digging nails deep in every
2 line love text
branded in my head and every
tendon that twitches for you.
Yet every set of lips
i kiss
quiver in my sight
threatening, ever threatening
to turn into yours -
damp, open, expectant.
Why you do me like that my love
Why you never manifest in full detail
every goosebump intact.
I break in the urge to transform
Her to You.
She tries hard
but her fingers are different.
Why you do me like that my love
Why you leave me with nothing
to be found in any part of her.
It suddenly frees me for anything.
I suddenly remembered today - that I have not written poetry in years. I think the Mumbai Triptych, more than a year ago was the last.
This is not the best.
I
it wasnt you, that i had wanted
in the beginning of this night
but as it winds down in the usual spiral
of puke and regret
i am drawn
moth to blinding sunflare.
I would do much to possess you
break arms and legs,
lie about who else i am fucking
follow you like a drunk
very drunk lapdog.
eventually
when you hold my hand
allowing me to lead you into the sands.
dont forget to bring along
the boxes filled with your pasts
written in nights such as this.
I just really want to look inside.
II
Why you do me like that my love
Why you show up in other pieces of skin.
I had shorn you from my dreams
My words, my world
physically.
Digging nails deep in every
2 line love text
branded in my head and every
tendon that twitches for you.
Yet every set of lips
i kiss
quiver in my sight
threatening, ever threatening
to turn into yours -
damp, open, expectant.
Why you do me like that my love
Why you never manifest in full detail
every goosebump intact.
I break in the urge to transform
Her to You.
She tries hard
but her fingers are different.
Why you do me like that my love
Why you leave me with nothing
to be found in any part of her.