Tonight, you were close
so close to touch—
and to touch back,
you hesitated.
Your perfume lingers
your smile coldens
what was once technicolour
is now truly grey.
But, I gave you respect
and you gave yours
even though we can’t be happy
thoughts out of reach
like children in a museum.
No, I never loved you
but I imagined I did
I imagined what it would be like
to be together
by the fireplace
reading books
I imagined what it would be like to
caress your cheeks
and caress your insides
But alas—imagine caressing no more
not even a tender kiss
Hope is lost—if it ever were there before.
It is a glorious night
with the pale moon bright
an evening full of thought
upon thy touch I sought
the desire of your caresses
feeds my unconscious stresses
and the sight of your eyes
the memory—oh goodbyes.
O what would I give if I knew
that I could see my lady anew.
For, my lady, patience is precious
alas the waiting—that is truly arduous.
Return from a faraway land
Her eyes shining so bright
full of hope, joy and emotion;
His smile—deep, genuine
An almost otherworldly sight.
Waiting for months on end
with a terrible disaster raging on
indeed, the end seemed out of sight
till their son did postcards send.
That was the joy of two parents—
an indescribable sea of emotions
the smile on their faces said it all
their son had come home, once and for all.
Resting my gaze upon your softness
no contact—but my eyes
feel you, caress you—
The softness of your golden sheets
flowing in the late evening breeze
yet——nothing moves.
Just the rolling drum deep inside,
its pace quickens:
a driving, rushing beat.
With every moment,
with every passing breath,
The piercing calm blue of your eyes
torments my imagination with your sighs.
Dear Lady,
Before last week we have not met
vague knowledge of each other’s existence
last week: it was all like a movie set
of two worlds in confluence.
Your shapes of before were not clear
mine were of plenty vibrant colours
I knew not what to fear
but those surreptitious emotional jewellers.
Last week, your colours matched mine
our words echoing in unison
was this some sort of crude sign
or an echo of my ambition?
Now, I wonder if you
with your golden hair and sapphire eyes
had felt these emotions too
instead, were these simply colourful lies?
I know only time will tell
I need patience, not this wicked spell!
I’m a man of nineteen
a man of forty and thirteen.
Liking beret hats
and videos of cats.
But I realised—in this world
nobody is that bold
every night is a purchase
as you sink further from the surface.
On this surface, real love is found
where feelings of tender romance compound.
In today’s transactional society
decisions require no piety.
What is this supposed to mean—
how can I unsee what has been seen?
Does love as we know it exist no more
just one-night stands making you feel empty and sore?
This world, though, I’m willing to discover
with many conspicuous secrets to uncover
I just hope in the end I’ll still be me
Still being the gallant, courteous and gentle man I would like to be.
She is like the sun
radiating the world’s love
her beauty is plain to all.
She is like the sun
glowing with joy and laughter
her smile is never stretched thin.
She is like the sun
I see her every day
too afraid to approach; will it burn?
She is like the sun
I’m waiting for a cloud to come
waiting for my turn.
But what if this chance
never fits my stance
and I’ll be forever waiting
waiting for inexistent romance.
As the night sky, eyes so deeply blue:
the evening stars I so wish to see anew;
or the earth after a rain spell
a rich, loving umber that all worries quell;
a green of the faraway emerald sea
one glance—and your soul may be free.
Beacons, shining upon the mountaintops
as the soothing embers glow
arrived—the place where time stops
and all movements start to slow.
No longer are these fireworks far away
wanting so much while having nothing to say
as these gems float towards
your heart, to the sky, upwards
there—once this sumptuous sight you meet
Heaven, your dreams, euphoria—all compete.
In a new strange land
with new strange people
wagging strange tongues;
none of it was planned.
But over time, only a few weeks
they are not so strange, they’re closer
warm-hearted, loving and witty
they’re what every lost person seeks.
Each beautiful in their own way
squares in a round world
inspiring me to do more—to write here
there’s only two words I can say.