When I asked you what your favourite colour is, I almost wish youíd have said you donít have any causeí neither have I. Or black because I used to find comfort in the dark ones myself. I hope you know I only enjoy movies that ravage me inside and that I am not fond of the idea of cinemas. Itís either with you or just my quiet solitude. I hope you would follow me to the last train cabin because you know how much I hate crowds and the idea of fitting in, in every fashion of that word. I hope you know that I behave best in long bus rides, especially when it is pouring passionately outside. And when I am depressed, the idea that the world is waiting to be noticed and here I am trying to make you notice is catching up on me. I hope you know that just about any food Ė the more sinful the better, can remedy that. I hope we can enjoy staring both at the moon and the queer shapes it paints unto our faces. I hope you know that darkness and heights donít quite bother me. Departures, do. I hope you notice my obsession with words and my shortcomings for grammar. And how I would say your name out of the blue because I want the air around me to bear witness. I hope that you know how much I love astronomy and youĎd keep promising me the auroras because I will fall for it every time. And I know how much alike you are to the stars. Always alluring but always so far away. And I hope you know that I donít know how to stop myself from falling deeper.




Today, I saw a flower wilt, a soft murmur of the wind as an excuse to weep. A twirl against dusts in his final fall, a heartfelt kiss unto the palms of his Creator, nonetheless.




I have a small favour to ask of you, if I may. Help me find a room. Small enough so I can feel the air tiptoe on the tip of my neck but big enough to contain us both. Space; enough for me to twirl, unfurl and when I fall again, Iíll have enough to let my body kiss gently unto earth, tender. You can hold me. We donít need walls, weíll just slump into the sunken bones of one another, our spines as neighbours. Our shadows can escape from our skin and burn themselves into the black of night or if they wish to, coil effortlessly into dark silks that keep us warm. Let me soak wholeness from your smile, your presence and your nearness. Donít question my silence; instead blanket them with your comfort. We can still be still. We can let words not reach us, watch them crumble like wilted stalks. We can waltz within whispers. Let me fill in the gaps like phrases to musical scores. Iíll gather enough wind we both can be swept away by the shock of silence, Iíll let my breath glide the emptiness in merriment. May our warmth kill the ill, our soft remembrance resurrect the will to heal. You can watch me go but first you have to help me find that room. If not, Iím afraid we have to settle for that corner of your heart.




So much sizzle in your speech. Save your saliva, let your spit be drizzle of rain that extinguishes flames instead. Don't let words get to your head, spreading hate from your bed. We're such a riot, will we ever be quiet? Watch the world burn cause we never will, learn.




have you stood in a fraction of time asking questions with silly rhymes?
not backed down by childish mimes
skating through the silent mine

hanging by a faith this worn
asking questions with ages sworn
next to nothing we were born
suffering sins we begged forlorn

have you ever wondered why was I
asking questions of cold and dry
now sweet demons hide my darkest lie
suddenly you came to bid goodbye

hanging by a faith this loose
asking questions of mental booze
need you now to break this ruse
surprised you came to hand the noose






Shadow is a latching for comfort to our existence; that the sun is still loyal to us, there is still light spilling unto us, there is still wall around us, ground underneath, that we are never quite alone as we are all led to believe.




Do you think the moon is lonesome tonight?
The loneliness of the moon is so very poetic, tell me why are there no rhymes or rhythm to mine?
Do I now, stare right into the sun? Do I down a wine, look for a sign?

Hush.

ď...but the moon wonít come, causeí we are lost in this twilight, whence come forth a confluence of day and night;
the fabric of the day is light and will pull us, the fabric of the night is heavy and will drag us,
so we are neither going up or down, and not just the moon, we wonít ever get to see the sunĒ

...but it doesn't matter if our skins are dragged forth to an empty promise, doesn't matter if night will blind us in all its ruffle of untruths,
doesn't matter if the cloud below us hovers at a space our lips can afford no words, our bodies no pores for air, what matters is your skin next to mine,
we shall find the sun in the warmth between the friction of our skin, and coldness of night within the cavities of our broken bones.

Have the moon cast queer shapes across my skin,
have your mouth devour every one of each I donít want you to have the moon all to yourself.

ďmy moon is my moon, your moon is yours I donít owe you my moon, neither do you owe me yours
what we do is simply let the moons orbit each other for the briefest of time"

Hush, stay close.

The moon is never lonely. The moon is high on helium The moon is laughing at us.
The moon is laughing at us, my dear.