56th death anniversary 🌹

Moonlit Pieces

I’ve memorized how poppies dance in my blood every midnight,
Til I turn into a pale moonlight
A stasis in the night, cloudy eyelids shut

And then I rise like thin hairs on skin, cold breeze within
A dark house in my universe,
A paperweight head in dirty white sheets

The pain we share burns now in the eye of the emerging sun, flickering
Piercing my windows, hanging on my ceiling

I ingest sugar pills in the morning,
I ingest art, I ingest you
My favorite breakfast
The extracts from your left breast—
the white milk leftovers prepared before you left
I keep stirring, concocting my black coffee
And then I eat the crumbs of you
Transcendence occurs in my stomach
Oh, how you speak too much and too little!
Your words in turmoil, I taste
As the claws of letters hook my skin

I hear the birds sing your…

View original post 100 more words



Moonlit Pieces

Another lost light,
the kid inside me shivers in fright
this life felt so foreign
ever since you were taken by pain
With eyes shut,
I saw your face and my chest was so tight
the wind whistles and sings of my ceasing dreams
a ghost of us blankets me tonight
out in the cold, where I chase the rising sun
the faster I run, the farther the sun
as languishing as mazes,
as dizzying as whirlpools
round and round
until I can see none, until I’m almost gone
but the thought of you rekindles a fire
freezing inside me
I melt an outcry
and felt so alive
I sniff fervor in the air
as I dance with the ghost of us tonight
to the music of my dreams
I swore by the night—
our algid lips shall be kissed by the sun,
and its rays shall wrap us…

View original post 40 more words


How would I forget how you pierced through my walls and windows The warmth of drizzling honey— A mid-summer sunset on a bleak December With eyes closed, and arms open I let you build a home in me Your stare hit me, your touch burned me You took my breath and my words away That …


In between the mundane seconds of a yellow Sunday afternoon and the stale poppies melting on my ill windowsill I hear your grey voice rushing in sea waves Echoing in my brain's camphoraceous caves Conquering my body like it's a war zone fighting for my sanity And the faces of your face are rip-offs clinging …


Did you even consider what Monday would feel before proclaiming how much you hate it? Did you ask yourself what Monday did to you for you to have the guts to detest it? Did you even consider to contemplate if Monday would like to be Monday? Or if Monday is really the Monday you see …