Homme Fatale

 Poetry in English  No Responses »
Feb 032011
 

One time, on you I laid my eyes,
So fast did melt my heart of ice;
And burn within a raging fire,
Fueled by my deep desire.

I have breathed it like the air,
To live without it I can’t dare.
I have toiled it, seed in earth,
Until it sprung and ripe for birth.

Now it strikes down like a bolt,
Coming too fast and can’t be halt,
Taking control of my mind,
Oh please, release me from this bind.

Photo credit: “Desire” by andyp89 at http://andyp89.deviantart.com/art/desire-108367044?q=boost:popular%20desire&qo=189

Your Touch

 Poetry in English  No Responses »
Nov 132009
 

No blood rushes to my face,
nor my heart skips one beat,
when you touch me with
the giggled touch
of a teenage schoolgirl
bemused by fancy things.

The gentle brush of your skin,
the soft pinch of pale corals that are your fingers,
upon my once unfeeling arm,
doesn’t redden my cheeks
as the sun would on clear days.

Only the muted urge, restrained and unleashed,
of longing and desire
overcomes me,
ties me to the stake,
fans the flames,
and burns me alive with that ancient invisible fire,
as if I were dry wood
upon the altar of sacrificial adoration.

Your innocent touch, unknowing and sincere,
warms the lifeless heart that cools
the night breeze blowing quietly
upon this balcony
carrying with it the scent of melted cheese,
of cigarette smoke,
and of the hope of relief
into oblivion.

It is torment. But, touch me again like that.
Perhaps, this time, my blood will flow
through my veins again.

Photo credit: Martin Stranka, www.martinstranka.com

Tonight I Kiss You with My Eyes

 Poetry in English  No Responses »
Nov 132009
 

Tonight I kiss you with my eyes
whose gaze you meet so fleetingly
and briefly, just enough time
for them to utter
a wordless “I love you.”

Tonight I kiss you with my eyes
peering through unblinded windows
to that other world within you
where you hide a scared and lonely child.

Tonight I kiss you with my eyes
tenderly as a butterfly kisses the wings of a flower,
gently as the morning sunbeam comes in through my window,
and you held me there enraptured
in heavenly bliss amidst chaotic existence.

Tonight I kiss you repeatedly with my eyes,
and repeatedly you never kissed back.

(Inspired by #4 Cheese, a plastic cup half-full with peppered water, lined yellow paper with doodles, a shirt with print that makes it look like sleepwear, and Sara Teasdale)

Photo credit: http://unidan.deviantart.com/art/Rainbow-Eyes-17304113

Anoy, Sobriety

 Poetry in English  No Responses »
Nov 102009
 

The drought arrived
when I heard the last sound of your fading footsteps
as I licked the last drop of alcohol on my cracked lips.
The dry emptiness of your leaving
left me with withered balloons,
glitter and confetti on the floor,
empty shot glasses,
empty table,
your vacant chair,
while I alone sit on mine,
with the party hat still on my crown.

I drink no more. I drink no more.
For the alcohol that once caused my heart to party
is now dried up.

(Written at 2:12 A.M., with sobriety reigning supreme. For Anoy, my CBF.)

Image credit: http://www.sxc.hu/profile/lilkid

Heart to Heart

 Poetry in English  No Responses »
Feb 122005
 

My past is awful and happy,
a past intimately woven into my present.
I have no control over what has been—
only in what is and will be.

Someday I shall be able to dance
with the horrible and lonely shadows
that spring from the tears in my past.
And not give them any power to make
my present become my future’s shadow.

When that day comes, I hope you’d still be there…
with me…when I could finally say,
“Wow, I had a happy past.”

And as for the Here and Now,
which tomorrow shall form part of my past,
I am glad to say it’s happy and awesome—
simply because you’re part of it,
and I love you
and you love me
deeply.

(I wrote this piece way back in 2005 as an inscription on a Valentines Day greeting card that I gave to a friend.)

An Afterthought

 Poetry in English  No Responses »
Jan 012004
 

An afterthought
is an unintended thought–it comes undesired;
an intention running second in the race,
where a forerunner cuts the ribbon first before others do.

An afterthought
is a leftover thought–
it is what’s left when all other thoughts
have been thought of.

I become an afterthought
when you think of me only
when nothing else is left for you to think about;
when I take second, third, fourth place in your life.

An afterthought is a mere addition
an appendage, an add-on.
It does not create worth,
nor adds worth,
nor its presence or absence matters–
after all, it is just an afterthought.

An afterthought is a side thought–
something inessential,
something not indispensable,
something irrelevant or immaterial
to the narrative currently unfolding.

An afterthought is a shadow.

(First published on my private blog in 2004.)