Low Battery

A Sunday spent in bed
in separate rooms and separate homes
trying to recharge for the onset of
work the following morning
yet not achieving our most potent selves

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OUR SPACE

You and I occupy different orbits that run clockwise and counter,
meeting only after a weekly revolution
or when the weather is nice enough that we cheat the course
and find ourselves saying “Hello” within those small windows of
crossing
The planets giggle at our sporadic alignment as asteroids fly by to run
interference
yet we sprout brighter and hotter than any star in the system
a constant constellation to look forward to —

SuperNova

In this vast galaxy powdered with glitter,
(each more bizarre than the other)
two lone stars drifted too close,
fluttering amicably as planets and moons pass them by –
shyly gleaming in the clouds or
slyly glinting sparks to the Sun:
destined to fall out of orbit whizzing to detonate a
supernova…

When

I am afraid of matchsticks burning my fingers
or elevator doors slicing me in half
I am terrified of kissing you for the last time in a day
or waking up realizing you no longer love me
I am frightened of the future, of what tale it would hold, if it’d still be you and me
or just… me
I am petrified of these thoughts, of these dreams, of these fears that latch when I look into your eyes
and catch all this warmth and not know what to do if they disappear, when –

Still Life

She is a block of stubborn marble
being sculpted to a certain design,
to a certain direction,
to a figure that speaks a different
message from what she intended,
from her transcendental essence –

With each hammer-strike another part of her is
ticked off, important pieces that the artist
dismisses; the pieces she cradled within the walls
of her prison,
of her person,
of her…

The fleshing of she not being she as
limbs and torso and intellect function only through commands and demands,
this precious stone, this block, this cell,
this compact arrangement of atoms that
thirst delicate fingers of art, of feeling,
of anything but this undulating hollowness
the fraud calls Still Life

“US”

The crook of your neck is my favorite place to rest my chin,

to bury my nose deep into the crutches of your scent: the natural musk of my person manifested

as a trail of fingertips tiptoe on your bare chest, a smile tugs at my lips gently at the bliss of midday splayed around you,

in turn, you scratch my back fondly: the soft contours of my unflattering body don’t feel as unflattering anymore

rather, you transform me into a wonderland of bubbles, mischief and sweetness encircled in this secret display of “us”

VINDICATED

There is a disgusting creature living inside all of us,

That feed on the pettiest desires, spelunking within the depths of mind palaces, it
magnifies them to ridiculous extremes; diluting the senses to things of import

With its potential to destroy our lives and

those around us that

For some –

The choices they make are as easy as

The snap of fingers as if its sound echoes to the great beyond

Sending the signal to raze whatever may come its way or whatever it is unnecessary

And in its contentedness to exist in this manner; untouched and unharmed
by his demon’s own self-destruction

He lives vindicated

 

Travel Collection Entry#4: Sirao, Cebu

I went to a garden in Sirao
found another realm in each flower
Flaunting and flirting butterfly wings
Picturesque couples exchanging rings

The sun perches on marshmallow clouds
shines on different statues standing proud
A cliff-drawn fairy princess tower
God’s giant palm where men don’t cower

Such a beautiful wee Amsterdam

 

Playing God. Playing Victim.

You are a puppet master
With a dancing marionette
Playing god in this shadow play,
Keeping secrets, keeping pockets
Full of gold and silver, jangling in pouches
Nicked from mesmerized spectators, even the magister’s purse!

A fireworks of theater, spectacular shams, grand eruptions galore!

But oh! The sirens assault and the audience scampers except YOU, thick-skinned fiend, whisper more, whisper more, whisper more
rumours in the ears of foot-soldiers! Play your part. Play it so. Play victim to the convoluted catacombs of your imagined riches.