If, I would.

A painter
flimsily brushing
on luscious streaks of hue
into a canvas of soliloquys
bruised by the Muses
tricked by trompe l‘oeil
whose opus replicates you
his gallery of mementos
the revelation of his gods.
From these mirrors,
I look into your eyes
choosing the right palette
in your own spectrum,
commencing a Renaissance
of kaleidoscopic dreams.
But if I were a color,
I‘d be blue.

A nomad
aimlessly wandering
on a plateau of emotions
into a pilgrimage for love
misguided by constellations
uninspired by adventures
whose Polaris points to you
his oasis in this desert,
refuge from the storms.
Under this infinite dome,
I look up to you
negotiating my place
in your own universe,
trading spots with the stars
you tell your dreams to.
But if I were a planet,
I‘d be Pluto.

A soul
chasing absolution
on these pews of St. Peter
into a gamble of heartbeats
confounded by beauty
overwhelmed by eternity
who sinned of loving too much
his sole raison d‘être
his breath of new life.
From the pits of hell,
I look for you
wishing, waiting patiently
for the promised salvation,
reaching out for a chance
to complete your being.
But if I had a second life,
I‘d live it all for you.

a-list

there is a list of things
i miss about you

and it‘s hard
to hold on
to move on
at the same time
but it‘s easy
to take:
     a pen,
     a paper,
     a pill

and write you
a list of things
i miss about you:
     how you smack your lips when you yawn,
     how you wrinkle your nose when we kiss,
     how you ask me about my metaphors,
     how you see the sunrise in my eyes,
     how you watch me watch you watch me,
     how you keep your elbows touch mine
as we walk
when we talk
of ten years from now
of a lifetime with you
with me

and i don‘t know
if i can
hold on and
move on

but:
     i miss you,
     i love you,
     i beg you
to remember
the list of things
we would do

if
only
you
could
have
me
on
top
of
your
list
again

and there is a list of things
you can keep:
     me,
     me,
     me,
     us.

keep me,
please.

A Mosaic of Broken Hearts

Oh, here we are; two broken hearts drowning in a concoction of the saddest stories,
looking out onto the western horizons for the faintest outlines of our forgotten reveries.
But the past is gone, the sun is setting down, the shadows of solitude spring into life.
The moon is waiting for us to love her and her promise of a blanket of stars tonight.

Let’s sojourn our way out of this cell of our disillusioned dreams and bitterest tears,
and plant a jungle, build a universe out of our wasted memories and tattered jeans.
Take a pen out of the bedside table and let’s begin to rewrite our meek biographies
With missing pieces to our own puzzles, knots to our wheels, syllables to our melodies.

Look at where we can be, with our hearts mended, alcohol-free, all poised and ready
to welcome a new sunrise by the east where our dreams shall take form and breathe.
If broken mirrors make beautiful mosaics, our hearts will paint the world a masterpiece.
The future is ours, I will be yours. Let’s collage these pieces into a timeless love story.

Dear Guitar Man,

You know, I have always been a fan of your guitars
and the way you transition from fret to fret. It’s like

the methods of your hands as you play with my hair
and my heartstrings, strumming them into a beat that

pull me out of my world of reverie into a universe of
you and I, as a constellation of stars forms your name.

And every bedtime, I fumble into my playlist for your
songs - your guitar songs - to sedate the monsters of

my nightmares into slumber. I will sing along, and I hope
you don’t mind my ignorance of rhythm and musical styles.

And every sunrise, I will replace the roosters’ crows with
your falsettos, and my coffee with your melodies and

the morning news with your words. And I hope you don’t mind,
if I mumble and stutter when I say, I love you, guitar man.

I love you. Don’t you fade away, and find another place to play.
My ears are here, so is my heart. So stay, my guitar man. Won’t you

stay?

I Ain’t a Circus Man

One, two, three
Let the balls fly and swirl
Through wisps of air
Around imaginary hoops
Be caught by the play
Of colors dark and deadly
Fast and swift
The ellipsis is perfect
The circles drive me insane

Throw one up
Hurl another
And catch one
When one falls,
Don’t stop, go on
The show is up
‘Cause I’m a juggler
An experienced one

But I don’t want to be a pro
My wrists, weak
My hands, limp
My palms, tired

I am no circus man.
Ovations need not be done.
I don’t want to be a circus man.
Juggling isn’t so much fun.

I don‘t know much about truths.
(You called me the biggest liar.)
But I know that we were true.

They used to say,
The earth was the center of the universe.
Before Copernicus said,
The sun is, idiots.
(You were the center in mine.)
(And yes, I was your fool.)
They used to say,
It is a four-cornered world.
Before Magellan said,
I will circumnavigate it.
(You were my world.)
(And yes, you were a good sailor.)
They used to say,
There are nine planets.
Before we said,
We know what Pluto is now.
(You were my star.)
(And yes, I was an asteroid.)

We were those truths.
Disputed.
Dissolved.
Disproved.
But nevertheless, true.
Were true.

But I don‘t know much about truths.
We could have been non-truths all along.
But I love you.
Until they make the world three-sided.

I let the songs take me.

I let the songs take me
Out of these dreams of
Torn promises that hurt
My legs when I wake up.
Away from the oasis that
Might have fed my body
But dried up my very soul
From temporary comfort.
Down these clouds that
Let go when it rains and
Drop me to the ground
To break my heart.

I let them take me
Where you told me you would.
To the stars,
To the heavens,
To your mom‘s house,
To your comfort zone,
To peace of mind,
To the sea,
To the cathedrals of Rome,
To the cherry blossoms of Tokyo,
To Paradise Falls,
To my lost heart,
And the broken memories,
To my dreams,
To infinity.

I let the songs take me
To where love won‘t find me,
To where you dare not go,
To where you‘re not.

I let the songs take me.
And the heart that keeps you,
And the mind that bows to you.
And the eyes that look for you,
And the songs I sang to you.

And I‘m free, and I‘m fine.
And I‘m new, and I‘m mine.
Where the songs take me.

insomnia

My body kept dancing,
my head was revolting
on this frostbitten bed
of heartless lovemaking.
I couldn‘t sleep.

And the clocks went ticking
the wild wolves were howling
in the dead of the night
of sorrowful longing.
I couldn‘t sleep.

Because you‘re still missing
the dawn is almost breaking;
in the sadness of my sheets,
I keep tossing and turning.
I couldn‘t sleep.

Tomorrow night, I‘ll be hoping
you‘ll be back to tuck me in
with your sonatas of moonlit dreams.
In your arms, I‘d be dwelling.
I wouldn‘t sleep.

Can we give it another try?
I know I burned your favorite tee,
But, listen baby,
Can we give it another try?

I mean,
I never forget our anniversaries,
And always did the Sunday groceries.
I dressed up like a monkey once,
And I always do you a little dance.
I finished all your projects on time,
And never made you pay a dime.
I perfected your morning coffee,
And every Saturdays, did the laundry.
I sang you songs till my larynx died,
And wrote you poems and rhymes.
I shut up when you come home drunk,
But stayed awake till you sobered up.
I loved you like I love my puppy.
(Oh come on, you know I love doggies.)
I was your mom‘s proxy and your maid.
I was your sparring mate and your slave.

I mean,
I love you baby, I do.
(And okay, I‘ll buy you that IPhone, too.)

So please,
Can‘t we give it another try?

still.2

I talk to you;
still, in my mind, every night.
I still tell you my stories,
how my day went through,
how I wish you were still here
to spend the day with me.
I still try to tell you jokes,
and imagine you snort, or
imagine you suppress a giggle.
I still kiss you: your cheeks
your nose, your lips, your closed eyes.
And my mind can still memorize
every pore, every hole, every mole.
I still whisper the same words,
the same phrases to keep you calm,
to keep the nightmares away,
to paint you a smile to last a whole day long.
I still fill you with my ambitions,
my frustrations, my inhibitions;
I still wish on the same star,
follow the same trail,
believe in the same promises.
And though, you’re still not coming back,
still not looking back,
still keeping on that track,
I’m still here.
And.
I hope you don’t mind,
but I love you,
still,
forever,
always.

Deep breaths.
I keep making deep breaths.
Each deeper than the last one.
I dig deep into my lungs, till I can feel there’s nothing left inside but soot from the last cigar I smoked.
And then, I let go.
Let it all go.
I exhale every carbon dioxide atom into the air.
And they would scatter into the atmosphere to search for a life form to keep them.
I don’t know that, though.
I can’t see them.
But I don’t fear losing my breath.
I know that one by one they will come back to me.
Because no one will take them.
No one to take my breath away.
They’re damaged and punctured.
Like my lungs.
Like me.

I haven’t cried in weeks.

Some days, I’m just too tired from hours and hours of thinking of you. Some days, I just stare into the darkness inside me and stay numb. And I’m worried. I’m worried that if I discontinue grieving for you, I’ll forget you. I don’t want to forget you. That’s in spite the painful truth that you have forgotten all about me by this time.

So today, I will cry.

And remember you in every tear that falls.

When I think of you,
I can’t write. So I just make
some stupid haikus.