Once Upon a Time

The Dreaming Shows Good Things.

Love is the little dry leaf

Inside your desk

Where a folded tissue accompanies

Other motley assortments

That you possess.

You've creeped into my morning dreams. Is this a sign? I'll let that pass for now.

- I've decided to leave the door ajar. You could be entering or leaving, as long as we're moving onward, forward. Yes? Because only now do I see some faint distinction between love and relationships. Some misconstrued conversations and several nights later, I've decided to leave the door ajar, so you could do with me as you please. Because only now do I see that I'm in love, not for the first time, no, but there's something here I would like to watch transpire. Strange morning dreams indicate happiness if I'm reading them right. And you, you knowitall God of all things, you I shall worship from my own brittle pedestal of steel. Because only now do I see the truth in your words. The truth that I see falling from the evening skies outside our home. This is meant to be.

Why not, right?

You don't know how lovely You are.

I collect comfort memories. Pockets of warm happiness and gentle companionship - like cherished second hand paperbacks, these come around quite rarely. Last night, you handed me one. Just like that, just by being there. All I remember is how your skin tasted, half breathing, half dreaming. I shared your travels in that moment, miraculous and humble at the same time. I touched a dormant fire, knowing one day I'll burn in its natural wrath. But last night, all I felt was its feathertouch warmth, glowing yellow and red, carrying me gently onward to quiet slumber.

Never Too Late

Maybe this isn't real at all. Maybe my fears are what really fuel this reality of ours. Maybe that's why I can never see past an evening that whizzed by us last year. And maybe it wasn't just last year. Maybe this started years ago, in my windowless room that I shared with my sister, when I probably didn't know that 'maybes' existed. Maybe it's all in my head, weeded in, grown out of the psychobabble that I'm subjected to on a daily basis from people who don't give a dime about someone else's sanity. And just maybe you and I should have left it like it was. Subdued. Strangled. A secret.

Hungry days and Horny Nights

I see you

Perched precariously

On a little gargoyle

Seamlessly floating

Against the blue blue wind.

If you were a canvas, I'd paint you foreverblue and throw in some fevicol for effect.

I see you

Hourglass in hand

Eyes shut to the dreaming

Drowning

In the blackness that is your soul.

And a single flame burns, while I wait, night after crimson night, songs falling from a listless heart.

I see you

Flailing body, swaying

To a rainy beat

Pitter patter

Your feet tremble.

Aren't we lucky you have a magic wand that goes pop?

I see you

Peeping in from the other end

Of your skewed pair

Of looking glasses

Pensive and brown

And I pretend to not watch when you're dying in your box.

Keys and Stones.

I'm going to move into my own apartment in two weeks and there's no better feeling, really. Nevermind that it's far, far away where you can see the sky for as far as you'd like and there are bullock carts instead of cars. And nevermind that my friends will be on the other side of the city and I'll probably never get to see them. I'll have my own house with a kitchen and a bathroom with a shower and everything. And nothing will ever be borrowed again.

To new roads, cheers.

Dazed and Lonely.

I feel like I'm walking through doors all the time. In and out. Doors heavily ornate some, others plain and simple with a little doorbell that goes ding! All of them open and close to little pockets in my mind, where I find little peace and a lot of doubts. Flaring up to the slightest indication of loss, holding on to tattered pages of history that almost everyone's so happily forgotten, how dare they. I'm not supposed to pee on you and make you mine, no? Territorial rights can be sketchy sometimes and I haven't yet learnt to handle them with adequate grace and dignity. Sharing a bed helps. Memories of vague intercepted mail, don't.

And the weariness of my addled mind just adds to the aging cage that is the body, making it difficult to breathe in this thick, knotted atmosphere. There's nowhere to go but huddle in the corner of a borrowed room and let the dreams fill you up till you forget you're dreaming, and then some. Mottled ropes of twine I feel like, about to collapse without warning, straining against the mouldy wall for support, sighing dramatically, till I'm sufficiently depressed enough to be happy. Oh I'm a keeper, yessuh.

Almost Dawn - Twilight Haikus

A cloud struck midflight

Your naked back in moonlight -

I need some reprieve.

Paper music gods

And volumes of poets dead -

In our heads they sing.

Pantomime sunday

It's summer caught in blinks

Wish it wouldn't end.