A Plea

Lord help me
I’m changing too fast
And I can’t keep up with my cells
Soon I’ll turn to sand, and I won’t know what to make of myself anymore.
Is there a way I can stay this ripe? Like a fruit that never dries.
Can you turn me into a painting?
Or like the hieroglyphic arts in Egyptian tombs;
to be imprinted for centuries to come,
alongside carvings of painted eyes full of desire
and lips that hold centuries old secret
under cobwebs,
yet never old

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Dancing on a Mountain

Zinging mountain breeze
Slapped into my face like some game of
Mischief and cacophony.
Dancing on the hilltop like a happy child
And sharing jokes with local friends like they’re the answers to a life worth living.
It’s a prestigious world out here in the boonies
Where I’m sworn in, like some captain of some imaginary ship
or better yet, like the Queen of the World,
or a monk, or a monkey.
Who cares
Nothing matters up here
So forget the rest down there.
As the queen of the nomads and the mountain birds
I hereby rule
That we party all day.

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Stillwater

Murky water from afar,
if submerged, crisp and crystal clear before the eyes.
Sitting lovingly above the earth, just a little pond full of memories.
As translucent as can be between my fingers
As immovable and as harmless,
Covered with weed.
Uncontrollably transparent our souls are,
Depth underneath.
Silent pond, as still as can be
Cursed with loneliness like me
Together lonely we choose to be, the pond and I.

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To Paradise

It’s time
To go back to paradise. To feel the soft, hot, sun crawl around painted skin. To let the ocean waves tease legs; leave it with a taste of some salty, pungent memory. And to let the warm breeze blow all troubles away. To be able to close eyes and breathe in sweet air that carries away the flimsy scarf against the body. To lay in hot sand and move with music from the headphones, while making marks on the ground like some squirming insect. And to let it make marks on the skin like it’s some celestial pattern. Sand all over the skin, in the corners of the mouth. Sand on lashes and sand tangled up in hair. The taste of grit; pulverized reality. The taste of invigorating lips, refreshing. The feel of sweat; clingy, immersed, surrounding, gratifying. And the smell of musk with it is the smell of gripping love. The ferventness of wild nights and crazy passions. To jump into the ocean and surge with the waves under midnight stars. Obsessions. To play like fish and to love like an amphibian. It’s time to drop everything, and go back to paradise.

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True friendship

I see you friend, across the ocean as you great me hello. Your sight is an emollient to my bleeding soul. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than to be here near you. To watch your happy smile from afar when you see me, as I wipe my tears and smile when I see you. I get that “life is what you make of it,” but it’s really hard right now. I need not explain it because you understand. We don’t say much, but we play all the time. We swim in circles and fly with the waves. Our sanguine hearts synchronized. Our parallel joys and matched enthusiasm, immeasurable. There’s no exclusive devotion between you and I. No ownership of a lover, nor expectations from family. It’s an infinite love and infinite circle of inclusion. Cheerful childish fun and sheer sincerity. The world is our playground, and laughter is our religion. Your shadow is the spirit of god. Your presence is freedom to my life. So I dedicate my heart to you, my dear friend. And I’ll say goodbye to you as the sun sets, as I see you swim away in the reflections of my tear. ‘Till tomorrow, or whenever I may or may not see you again. I hope you know that I’m with you in spirit, in the form of an angel.