hues of soft blues

I imagined an evening of the everyday,
how it was
what I said
(how I felt)

we are going to bed,
the ceiling fan is on

I ask to turn it off,
for us to fall asleep in silence

(so as to watch you slumber at five,
to feel the soft of your skin
underneath my still hand,
to hear the birds of summer
lead our way into the dawn,
to listen to your breath thicken with pleasure
as you are awoken by my lips along your spine)

I am tired and aching some, that's why
(absolutely worn down by grief)
good night love
see you in the morning

realization: a

for you, darling
there is comfort in the every day
there is solace in repetition

to be expected
to be dependable
to deliver
pleasure and joy
surprises and praise
that's me

a temporary lifeline
a habit accumulated through the years
those you have aplenty

for me, darling
that's not who I want to be

an indefinite article
a

Fun & Games 1

"yes, but..."
"no, but..."
here's how you 'negotiate'

in no position to argue
I am a reasonable person (I tell myself)
grateful till it sickens me,
patient to the edge of despair,
translucent and constantly there-for

yes, but
no, but
here's how you dictate

it's time to put my foot down
-- surprisingly easy, you'll see
this interdependence,
this well-kept secret
is by mutual agreement
and that, my friend, is strange mathematics:
there are two
and without a half
there are none.

code of conduct

I can hear it in your voice
that you think you need to go now
but you've gracefully decided
to let me finish my sentence

My point is irrelevant
Your point is to be polite

standfast

am I just tired
or just tired of this?

the first step of the ladder
is too far
from the uncommon ground
I stand on

face us

when you know for certainty
you are enough
and enough is more than
anyone would ask
you can take a step forward,
away from the amplifier backup
and the all-else excluding limelight
and you can include the rest of us

That's what he did tonight:
he included us.

is or isn't?

I make you happy, you say
but it isn't my making, is it,
your bliss?
I am who I am
and it seems to suffice

You make me sad, I think
-- and confusion steps in
with an oily crooked smile,
forced
and forceful,
it grins to me
and I would want to ask:
Is it your making,
my sadness?
You are who you are
and--
oh I don't know...
(my face is all a question mark)

Confusion says naught.

black keys

major, minor
major, minor

what a queer little tune
you've made
composed to black keys only

o fingers mine, step carefully then
not to miss my part
when we play

tis' the season

oh, this holy night of wonders.

an angel has appeared on our front yard
she lies there, still and welcoming
white wings stretched open to the sides,
her arms are cold

a spruce has been replanted in our living room
he stands there, still and stoutly
sparkles of silver and light entwined,
his life is done

all these motives;
hearts and stars and snowflakes
to be seen
to be bought
to be handed out

no thank you.

let's replace the maybe with a someday?
after all,
in our parallel universe
who's to say
where the time ends
perhaps we have forever there

primary material?

(to make a note of tonight)

**
what am I made of?

it's not like I were of glass
;you would see right through me
and beware of tumbles,
have me on the mantel
and dust off occasionally

it's not like I were of leather
;you would use me for my good qualities
and cut up to size,
wear me to save your skin
and throw out when wornout

it's not like I were of clay
;you would mold me anyway you please
and knead with knuckles,
wash me off your hands when you're done
and leave to dry out

it's not like I were of stone
;you would get no response
and feel alone,
look for a softer place to rest your head
and kick me aside

it's not like I were of fire
;you would burn to blisters
and shun off,
heal slowly with a tortured smile
and admire from afar

but if you were to do harm
I would break into pieces,
would stiffen up,
would turn into a soggy mess,
I would turn cold and relentless to the touch,
I would die out as flames do

imperfection,
here it lies
disappointment,
here it comes:
I am of human,
not very practical

important dates

How it all started:
To him and to me.

Nudged on by him
to relay a message overseas,
and,
to the future me
with hopes of keeping a memory
as I am not one for keeping diaries
(nor remembering things)
...and now it comes to four years of this

Well, hopes proven:
this has worked.
I remember who, and why.
And wish it be so ever still.

**
in the evening, as it was My time again
I thumbed through some writings
(November to November, to be precise)
equals a year

numbers, nothing but
letters, nothing but
pictures, nothing but
pens and paper, pixels and insinuation

but we all know:
November to November
-- what a year.

at the table

on my way to work
I pass by a bakery;
delivery trucks are loading up
a thick scent of freshly baked pastry
oozing out of the open door
floating around like a heavy cloud

on your way to work
you pass by a roastery;
nothing to be seen,
white wall enclosure
and rows of windows framed in black
but the spicy air from within
escapes into the streets

in another world
there's coffee and toast;
we're having breakfast.

hot and cold swirl

early tonight:
hurrying home
all senses hightened so
up to nearby pain;
all senses nearly lost
up to the brink of madness

fall is here to greet me
with brisk kisses of chill
and abundant colors

I see orange
and I think of you

I feel the nip
and I think of us

where hot meets cold
and yet, nothing is lukewarm

not there to see

Sutra.

I listened and watched in awe
gasping for air,
welcoming a tear

how they fell like dominoes
with a majestic tremor
(plywood boxes with men)

how someone in the audience
giggled unruly midst everything
(little boy on row 1)

how the violin cried along the cello
in enchanting tristesse
(grand piano, too)

how I recognized the movements
as those I once hoped to emulate
(Tai Chi)

how I hoped to recall it all
when I see you next
(not the same)

how I longed to hold your hand
while all this was laid before me
(explain)

how you were not there to see
and it made me sigh
( . )

"always" (somehow)

for some time now
I had been thinking of that word...
once it appeared
it would not let me forget itself

and that was alright by me.

I'm happy with this.

for some time now
I had been unsettled by that word...
once it was out
I could not let it be

until now
when you said it, too...
another private uncertainty ousted
-- yet another.

step for step, word for word:
we're further down the road,
leading nowhere and everywhere

I'm happy with this.

things at home

at a walk, the other day
I was pleased to notice
that I still see things around me
that my vision is not blurred
by lack of sleep

there's beauty everywhere
at home
on the streets
in you.

she comes first, not knowing it

at times:
"unfaithful to me" we think.
as if it were true.

what a joy it must be for her
to be able to hold you
whenever she pleases

you're always there.

"that is my place, too" we claim.
"so where is my time?"

could be called jealousy
but
with a tolerant smile
and an understanding heart
we wait for our turn

it is a choice
not a must.

so whenever
in a minute
you take my hand
and we dive deep

relying
enjoying
bewildered

whatever we get
we love.

*

conversations

of death and sex in the morning
news and knicknack through the day
and in the evenings, well

words as touch
smiles in asterisk

cautiously sporting handpicked ideas
of the Other World
sensibly settling for less
we're right here
where we want to be:

together in conversation
insanely in love.

this story

how can I ever
let you see what I've seen
on my journeys
this year gone past?

if you take my hand
(here)
and we climb the stairs
up to the attic

and
if you step inside
(there)
and we enter my room
over to the left

you'll see

how
the room is covered
from the floor to the ceiling
with the pictures I've taken
on my journeys
this year gone past

from fall, through winter
over to spring
and into summer

skylines
shades of then grey and now green
roadkill
songs of then given and now ours
to mundanely name a few

how can you ever
let me know
what you've felt
on our journeys
this year gone past?

if you fix a few pillows
(there)
and we take our time
under the rain

then
you can tell me all about it

we have time.

we got a new car

I took our new car
for a test drive

(we need the space
as us is getting bigger)

the car:
it's comfortable
it's BIG
it's bulky

and
I don't quite know
where it ends
and where the road begins

you're further away from me now
-- I doubt that your hand can reach me
I'll miss your hand
when I'm driving

but there's that extra space
that we paid for
-- so there's room in the back
and the seats, they pull back
so we can stop
and gaze at the rainbow