the sequel to autumn

the moon is the sinner of sinners.
her light shameless and bared you to the eye,
her shadow disguised my hesitation and,
you were locked to my body as,
a vampire would bound its soul to,
the resilient temptation of blood.

your eyes' reflection recalled one broken,
ray of a sun long set.
a mirror of what could be real,
far more real than any piece of this dream,
but it did not matter as,
the golden leaves of your beloved's trees of,
the waking world had all fallen gray to,
the unsatiable hunger of the gravity,
of this earth.

so in a kiss that held a dream motionless,
a universe breathless,
i tasted your scent as my fingers crossed,
the spires and valleys of your being and,
our own reality fell into place,
into a breathing existence,
for a temporal love as ours,
for the eternity that crossed the,
ravines of merciful oblivion that bridged,
a sunset and a sunrise.

eternities end.
let not the poets have you dream otherwise,
some moments in your lifetime you,
might remember the mortal eternities we,
buried among the evanescent memories and,
unnamed reveries and ephemeral love.
know that, as you watched me fade,
from your touch as the moon faded, perhaps,
for shame of its sins and,
know that, as my eyes lost,
its borrowed light, my body transcended,
out of its borrowed shape and,
my voice silenced with its stolen music and,
know that, before you forget me for,
an eternity.

i was after all, merely the passing dream and,
you were my dreamer.

2005.feb.23

within

do not bring me sunlight in a glass, or breathe
a mouthful of rainbow in between
my lips, instead hook
my little finger with your little
finger and have us slip through
the slits of a crowd of curtains and out
of our castle, out
of its stale shadows, stumbling onto
the palm of night, into
its breathing shadows, and
i will be alive.

have your eyes feast with mine upon the naked
sky that knows no limit to
neither her size nor her shame, have
your bare feet romance as mine with
the shifting mists that hide treasures far
greater than pearls beneath the tide, far
lovelier than diamonds in the womb of far
mountains, far deadlier
than the sun, and
i will be alive.

if you do all this, i think i will love
you more, i will love more
the contrast of my pale fingers swimming
through the midnight of your hair, i
will cherish the contest of my pale
skin against the ivory of your skin, i
will fall for the way my little
finger hooks with your little
finger: gentle as a twilight's whisper, yet
tighter than any bond, closer
than any embrace, as pure
as the night of nights, and
i will be.

now, do not speak and do not dream, never
dream, not within this dream, and be
alive with me a little breath
longer: have your skin
remember with mine the long forgotten
taste of a dying night, have
your mind listen with mine to
the war song of an invading day, and
fade with me, die with me, fall
with me past a crowd of curtains onto
the waiting shadows, and
i will be

with nothing but the taste of
a mouthful of silence.

2007.jan.4

peorth

on a precipice
on a treasured dream
i stand

and read the horizon
for a semblance of you

this landscape blinds me
its silence devours me
and love

is an unseen wind
raking at my hair
rolling a soundless kiss
in my mouth

dancing around me
without a song
breathing at the embers
in my insides

and love
is an unseen wind

rolling past
without permission
taking her kisses
to other high places
of the earth

and love
i stand
on a precipice
on a treasured dream

i read the horizon
for a semblance of you

2007.feb.28

the girl from temple eternal

you asked me not to regret but i bleed that i have not listened
to you when you showed me clouds and lamented of concealed heavens.

instead i sang of skies never tarnished by clouds of gray and have
never seen wrath of rain other than few drizzle drops on a pond.

what is left to heed now but this faint echo of your voice rolling
and the harder i would try to listen the silence grows deeper.

i cut my soul that i could have listened true to the darkness you
told me of that was a blanket, underneath were beautiful things.

the fool in me sought gold that would warm my greed and lust and the fool
in me grew deaf and blind though in your arms and in your warm embrace.

you asked me not to regret but the paradise in your arms was
yours to sing of and not mine to dream of in my unworthy sleep.

2004.jul.14

miss trust

her mistrust lies among the poisoned roses
scattered at her feet
the thorns bleeding with her blood under
the weight of her body
but she is most gentle in death,
and in giving it. and in giving it,
she flaunts her gentleness
by laughing in my face

my shame lies among the slain flowers
mourning by her grave
the mud seeping like blood into her body
beneath the ground i stand upon
i am most fragile in death,
and in seeing it. and in seeing it,
i fling my fraility to, and
by hearing the laughter of the wind

and everybody's guilt lies on my dirty palm
stained by her ashes
the impure earth crumbling and eating
at the heart of the world.
everybody is most scared in death,
and in asking for it. and in asking for it,
we only wish to stop hearing
that insane laughter of the wind

2002.nov.25

cluster

the fairy tale i wrote you loses another chapter.
barehanded in this humid autumn morning i rake
solemnly at twigs and leaves hoping to find
a glimmer, a sheen, remnant of a word
that might remind me.

half naked in this humid autumn evening
my eyes comb the tamed fire on the hearth.
the words i gathered today timidly sleep on my lap,
one by one i put each in my mouth
trying to remember how each tasted,
when you were the ear that faithfully listened.

and i cannot extract a drop of any feeling
that resemble a memory.
and i cannot find a little piece of my soul
to sell to the devil for a little dream of you.
in the gentle and ruthless beaches of time,
my fairy tale of you is a tide
on its way to receding,
taking from me the days,
the clothes you wore,
the color of your eyes,
the shape of your lips,
your voice and the truths you said,
the lies i told you and each line falling
between the once upon a time and the ever after,
including, your name and how its sound
tasted in my mouth, and how it tasted
when you were the ear that faithfully listened.

2007.oct.26

tripping on constellations

the weather seldom matches her heart,
in her upside-down world.

she walks on fallen skies littered
with half-buried stars,
and almost trips on Vela,
while the tide lashes its salted tongues
in mock laughter, umvewihillion miles
above her head.

the moon has just gone, drowned
into the vaporous ground before her,
sunken and acting Atlantis to little things
scurrying over this ground-sky.

she ignores them, and proceeds
to brush off stardust from her plain
white nightgown, and waits for the sun.

but the sunrise is again, without
a grand entrance,
a disappointment...
a dead fish floating to the surface.

always inedible.


2005.dec.13

paper

i love you in a paper world
and i sing to you paper songs
and last night i dreamt of you
in paper gardens where paper birds
swoop over paper flowers
and paper stones but i was scared
for though you wore paper garments
you were flesh and blood and hair
when everything else was normal
everything else was paper

2005.may.25

i fell for you for one day

hello love;
i fell for you for one day.
i conquered this mountain and there was you:
alone; pristine; alone but pristine;
we were alone but above the world;

i thought you were a dream... love;
how else could i read your dreams
and they were my own?
how else could you hold me
and we were one?
yet out of our night i woke into your tranquility;
a tranquility i had lost within the shifting seasons
of turbulence in my heart.
i knew then that ours was something real;
a something that breached the confines
of my illusions;

i shall miss you, love;
i fell for you for one day.
it tears me that i could not give you more
or take from you more;
yet my soul is a vampire thirsting,
enslaved by blood of turbulence;
tainted; tainted and unworthy of you.
so i left you alone; alone and pristine here,
on this mountain the way a stone
rolls down a lonely hill:
solitary, subtle, swift,... silent
but for the occasional sigh of sorrow.

2004.aug.30

while my angel dreams

she unleashes, fragrant and warm
breeze from out
of her rose petal
lips.

almost, i can taste her
breeze,
so softly but like
little hurricanes
they storm about my mouth and down
my throat as if they so desire
to choke my own
breath out
of me.

my eyes close and they open
again.

her face a picture of
calmness as she sleeps,
her skin so smooth and so tender,
her lips the rose petal tomb
in where the storm rests for
a few
hours;

only to rock my soul again soon,
only to lock my own lips
again soon,
in her kiss:
a tempest out of her heavenly
rose petal
lips.

2000.jun.30

heaven must be up ahead and beneath her feet

further up the beanstalk i lose
the texture of your tombstone,
and soon i will no longer make
out its shape, and then the color
will be the last to go.

closer to the clouds it is colder,
i start to sense the concern
of vapor sprites, i must not
mind them.

my concern is to believe in this
overgrown vegetable i am vertically
conquering, to believe in fables
and tales of faerie folk and
grandfathers.

most of all, i have to believe in
somewhere at the end of this climb:
a city of dead humans, or heaven
to the gentler-hearted, where
supposedly you'd be, and waiting for
me.

2008.jan.08

your kind of water

what kind of rain
are you?
she asked me in
a time long forgotten,
in the academy of clouds.
her voice
was rolling thunder,
both soothing and
deliciously loud.

well i am a mere
drizzle to your storm,
i answered,
i couldn't
afford my own puddle,
i am unnoticed
in crowded days on
wet season boulevard,
and i always stay
inclouds
anyway.

and her laughter
was startling, got all
kind of people
jumping,
in the world
underneath us.

it must be nice to be
like that. she said. she smiled.
her translucent wind
tangled with my breeze,
and i knew bliss
in a way no rain
has ever
felt before.

she went her way,
thought i felt
a lightning spark
from her cloud as grey
as a fading night
caress me,
for a moment
ere it was
gone.

and her laughter
was echoing, in my
little cloud,
merely
a breath to her storm.

so what kind of rain
is she,
should someone
ask me;
she is the kind that
rains all day,
in every place where
you ever
blew.

2005.dec.15