Live a little, lie a lot

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I prefer reminiscing the peak of dawn,

the scene of myself lying all limp and lanky

after all my energy I transferred

into your lips.

Spent. Unlike the superficial beauty

that I keep alive in my perfume bottle and complexion

to seduce my equally dashing counterpart.

***

Body of a man.

Face of a woman.

***

Him? Her? My understanding is blurred

while I’m still drunk on life and nihlism.

I like your big hands, though,

a cheap mimicry of the real package.

Old wisdom told me that

ya ain’t good for me, bubs-!

ever since I dubbed you the ultimate

Generator of Dreams.

But what happens when dreams become a reality?

***

“Stay,” I sobbed into an imaginary breastcoat

after you smothered me so hard my head swam

in a narcotic pool of my own making.

“Exist. Even if just.

Else I’ll wither.

Lie to me so hard you fail me

gracefully.”

***

Live a little,

Lie a lot.

Old Love

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This old song

reminds me of the old love;

of chemical synapses

and aimless relapses

and then the lack thereof.

*

It niggles in the crevice of my mind

Waiting to latch onto sight,

And then it’s a fusion

Of rapture and willing delusion;

But only when the time is right.

Ducts

They sing ripened milk sacs

slung across the chest, bearing

respite for a weary head to lean onto,

nourishment gathered by The Rib itself,

and love, a sweetly overflowing fountain

savored among the world’s sisters.

If ever you need to exchange

one heart for the other,

you so self-unaware,

you’ll find me crying

like a fussy infant babe

long overdue for its sleep…

Arches

Eyebrows —

so bushy

I can lose myself in a garden

of clustered follicles.

Arches

like flying buttresses

leading into entropic passion.

A framed testament to your soul,

I lust for a life dedicated to

making love to them.

Pupper

two yellow labrador retriever puppies
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I found this one in an old notebook!

***

You were the one holding

that baby retriever and facing the camera

With a gleaming grin of

Ecstasy all over your face.

You were the one, with a sleight

Of touch, snapped an aesthetic

Of them playing,

Biting

Whining,

Slobbering,

Their cootie-cuddly baby eyes shut tight

In dreamy ruminations.

You are the one hiding beneath that

mound of wriggling fur,

Not knowing, innocent as they,

As I once was,

Who’s really hiding under that lively mound.

You say, “puppy farm”

But for all I know,

I say, “puppy mill.”

I don’t like puppies.

Manifest Secret

woman s index finger on her lips
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As I tell us my story of you,

The tension of your omnipresence spills

All over the tangible world

Like a child splattering its wholesome glory

Over a ripe canvas.

Everywhere I am,

You are —

For the trees to breathe in,

For my father to hear my giddy delight,

To guffaw with my friends,

For you to oust my secret stories

Out of the woodworks.

For the mountain-tops

To rejuvenate the air

And draw a portrait

Of you.

The ripple has ceased,

Longing has eased —

One of those dilly-dallying days

If I think of you again,

I need only spread my tendrils

And grin.

Because

view of dark hallway
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A moment in the interlude of infinity,

My thoughts flicker over to you —

I think a pixie sprite wrapped

Its spindly slender antennas around my heart

And emitted warm pulses through my quivering veins.

A whiff of burberry once again

Uplifts my head into the air

As if it’ll snag my chin and kiss me down

To the barren strips of my soul.

My neck aches from craning at each footstep

In each desperate hour.

Perhaps another day, then,

I’ll hear your voice

Sweet as bubbling milk with honey.

You say your lines to-do,

but your eyes ask,

“Why this hicktown stranger?”

Well,

Because…

Magnum Opus

silhouette photography of woman with shoulder length hair
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Cartoonish caricatures of fishies are

floundering in my periphery

while my clone lies sprawled under

scrutinizing starlights.

She’s writhing,

pining.

O my love,

what did I just do to you

in those milliseconds, grains of

an existential high

infecting the air?

I’d nurse you

Like a mother and her squalling child.

But I’ll send another

in my midst,

nary knowing that

the one who watches over you

like God and his Book of Life

is me.

Breathe Me Alive

affection american asian woman beautiful
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One glimpse

and I want to

stroke your face

up and out,

round and about,

like the masseur at the spa.

Cup your face against my palm

and I’ll trace your veins as they

lead to your heart —

but maybe I’ll contend with

ticking you on the underarms

instead.

*

Is it wrong that I want to

entwine my body around yours

till you’re close

close

close

to my core,

to the soul hidden beneath my soul

and our pulses beat as one

and I can just maybe,

perhaps…

breathe you in?

*

Please cradle me

so I can snuggle my ear to your chest

and hear an lively ocean

surging inside,

and I’ll know you’re real

when I fall asleep

and all my realities become a dream

as your body beside me fills my lungs

with your scent.

Remember butterfly kisses? The ones where

we’re so close our eyelashes

are touching?

They’re now goldfish nips

because now I’ll cover your face

with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

*

Maybe one night

under the covenant of

a balmy evening

I’ll introduce you to the star-struck sky

because it’s always watching.

I’ll kiss your nose

so that my blessing will extend

down to the tips of your toes.

And while your breath is still fresh on mine

I’ll trace your lips

so that with mine, I’ll imprint onto you

my fiercest declaration:

you belong to me,

and I

to you.