I am
the earth.
I’m the Lion
who arouses.
I am a contrast
to the place I claim.
I’m what they call converse,
like a chameleon,
Dressed in anti-camouflage.
I am in your zone, exposed
to all the offerings of yours,
of which you had not known before
you saw me in the crowds — sticking out.
falling in love is
like the tattoo
you want to inject
under your skin.
a narrative which
I will wind
around your
silky forearm hair,
your dimples
and your heated chest.
When I put polish on my little toe.
Yours was so small you had to paint its flesh.
When I look at my childhood photographs: Strawberry blond, blue-eyed.
They said we had looked similar.
Whenever I touch a scarf.
Particularly, when I wear it too tight.
in·no·cent | \ˈi-nə-sənt
from Latin innocentia,
that denotes no ‘harm‘,
as well from Latin nocere,
‘injuring‘ someone,
or anyone involved.
blameless with integrity,
upright and disinterested,
lacking guilt or artifice
like a child,
protected and naive.
surely free
from legal wrong,
free from guilt and
free from sin,
with candid lack of knowledge,
I declare you are:
ingenuous, artless, ignorant
of the evil you have caused
of the guilt we’re all incapable
to blame you for.
If not full of myself
what else should I be full of?
Or would you, rather,
have me half empty?
It
Might
As well be a
Watershed moment,
Since I like to dive deep,
Always, until I can hardly breathe
Until I can hear my heartbeat: Loud and clear.
That day,
we sang to drown
Out the sound of the
Rain hitting our
Stubborn
heads
Three keys are lying
In the clean and empty
Kitchen cupboard,
Ready to be taken away
By the lady who’s
Checking the flaws,
Our flaws, the ones
We did our best to wash away
Four days in a row,
With acid and with baking soda.
Three keys aligned,
Three keys, not four:
My key had slipped
Through the hole of
My white tweed coat
Some time, long ago.
Maybe I’ll find
That missing one.
Then I would sneak
Through this door
That will lead
To a life
Which won’t be ours anymore.
The photos on the wall
Won’t show you or me or
Anyone we know.
The air won’t smell
Of the cinnamon granola
I made the day before.
You won’t be lying
Asleep on the sofa bed,
Waiting for me
To wake you up.
And still,
I might be keeping that key.
Just because
It once opened and
Shut our world.
Her soprano to my strum
Under stars on someone’s patio.
Sea-breezed highway rides
Stapled to his waist.
Honey-infused coffee, twice
At Dolce: 9 am.
Dozing to her heartbeat
Having conquered paradise.
Carpet, fire, popcorn, blankets
As rains rage outside.
All shapes and neon colours
Running the city at night.
Brownies on my backyard-floor,
Just because we could.
Tablecloth like sugar-coating,
Or like smoke.
Giggly, tipsy, and best cheesecake in the world.
Twerking, jumping, sweating,
Hair sticking to hot heads.
Walking home and feeling safe;
And feeling it still.
