We could be not-strangers

we are two strangers who have yet known
the luxuries of a beating rhythm,
or the sound vibrations
from the corners of my lips to the edges of your skin.
I would ask you to trust me
with your heart and every crevice of your body;
you’ll hold the needles and inject me with the ugliest parts of you –
I’ll take even them.
there will be two separate bodies and one grand promise
that every inch would be worshipped.
We’ll just be two strangers mapping out the constellations
hidden in the light between our eyes.
and I ask you to trust me
because we might not know of the endless possibilities
but with you, I trust we’ll be fine.

For ‘trust’.


This is Four Us.

Vodka Cruiser, Peach – Your favourite.
And darling, I’ve had four.

One to hardly think of; just movements of liquid
Through open lips – Lips that used to touch your skin,
Down burning throats that have forgotten how to breathe.
It’s an empty wish for the day I’ll live.

Then Two is for the times I remember:
We were dancing into the kitchen, stumbling half drunk,
Laughing between kisses that were too little and too much.
I guess there are some treasures in vodka and gin mixers.

But three is where visions and words are blurred.
A drop goes down the bottle’s neck, slowing as it curves,
Like fingers across collar bones and three whispered words:
I love you, I loved you…

And Four is where it all goes home.
They say unlucky numbers threaten our souls.
They don’t know I’ve lost mine some time ago.
But love remains for the heart that hardly knows.

And darling, I’ll have four more for the road.

vicesphotosub.jpgSubmission for a theme on vices.
I wanted to write something about alcoholism for some reason. I think it’s something we don’t really take note of until it gets too much, until we depend on it or until its our only source for escape. To celebrate, to remember, to forget.. What do you drink for?

Finished poetry

I don’t know you.
Not yet anyway, not a whole lot.
We could just be strangers who happen  to talk.
But come morning you are my first thought
And every hour after feels like the world’s spun faster
And evenings feel like the best part of the day to me.

I know now what the fox was on to the Little Prince,
Maybe there are certain ‘proper rites’ to things.
And now ‘what ifs’ have become my new favourite flings.
Cause at least there I could be your one and only
Maybe there we could taste each other’s lips.
Even if it’s all just make-believe and

You don’t know me.
Not yet anyway, not a whole lot.
We could be falling in love while we talk.
But come morning you might make no reply
And every hour after feels like the world’s hardly gone by
And evenings will remind me of what we used to be.

This was previously left unfinished but i managed to finish it today!

Roses are Red

Roses are a forbidden kind of red,
one that leaves thorns in a wanderer’s head
sullen and sinned for wanting things to begin.
every glance she gives would redden one’s skin.
see, who could resist these kisses to the wind?

amid, the wanderer’s heart then falls apart,
rooting for a bloom selfish in art, knowing
eventually wanders end when summer departs.

Risen in principle, risen in past,
every petal would leave a lasting mark. So
dance through the seasons, and leave nothing dark.

IMG_6101.JPGThere are people we shouldnt fall for. But we fall anyway. And halfway through we kind of stop running away from it. We kind of just flow.

Slow down

Slow down… We’re in no rush.
Everyone has somewhere to be, people to meet.

We don’t.
There’s nowhere to get to,
No one to be with.
We’ve stopped moving in the world that still spins.

And I’m not so sure if we’ve won…
Or if we’ve forgotten how to move on.

IMG_6007.JPGThe question is, what do we do then?
When you find yourself lacking behind and everyone else seems so far ahead or when you feel like “this must be how they enjoy life” while everyone else’s stuck in rush mode. Which is it? What do we do?


Some dreams you want to remember.

I dreamt that we fell in love all over again
From scratch, from nothing, from almost.
I dreamt that it was all right,
That you made it different, and we made it good.

To have touched it again, to have felt it,
To have gotten it so right this time
And I am here, replaying it.
Over and over and over and over and over

And over
And I know one day I’ll lose it all at once;
Just all at once and all over again.
But for now, for this, for almost,
I will dream that we fell in love all over again.

Even though one day I’ll wake.

is it wrong?

I guess I’m not a very good person.
Because aren’t good people surrounded by loved ones?
To be in marvellous joy and laughter, together,
To lie against the comfort of an elder’s smile?
I thought our good memories of past were disgraced.
I thought i was doing something right
i thought i was saving them – our moments.
but maybe when we chase for righteousness,
we forget what it is that makes us good.
we stop seeing the worth in our movements – in any movement.
we fail and we fail and we make things worse
and i am a bad person for making things worse.
i am a bad person for closing it all down.
and as much as i’d like to say it –
that i chose wrong –
what would be the point?

And I would say be absolutely careful with the wrong kind of choices.