Syringes

We, in our present state, still longs

for the scent of skin and the feel of
diving intramuscular or slipping subcutaneous.
But, you chose to contradict-
saying that you would rather enjoy the
sight of us blending with rust in that

little box you labeled ‘Sharps’.

Fastdrip

What bothers you
is the flow of IV fluids-

like reruns of the humid
air in the month of December.

Then, you remember something
less of words spoken

and more of a pain that
tracks the shutters of your heart.

By tomorrow, everything
will be ordinary-

the scent of roses, chocolates
and love letters.

I, too, remember the flow
of IV fluids-

fast enough to wash
away memories.

Before Sleep

My index finger

runs the curve

of your lips.

Catching up

with the hymn

of trees,

outside the

window pane,

swaying veils.

Breath against breath,

into this make belief

madness.

Eye meeting eye,

searching for

answers given.

Skin touching skin,

covering the

spaces in between.

This is a conversation

and a travel

in trance.

We own

everything, tonight,

before sleep.

Oneirophobia

The letters stitch
the color red,
reminding her of love lost.

Flowers, overflowing,
that shadows our eyes-
coldly

passing secrets overtime,
now and then.
The fast forward motion

of this phase,
a riot in double-
paralyzed.

Yes, Valentine’s day
like red crayons
and love letters.

I’ve seen the mixture.

Trials and errors
or chosen themes,
like dreams.

Like Coldness

An afternoon without sun,
like coldness
warming your skin
in an open pier,

and your smile-
sweet as sweet,
a tease of your lips,
a constant reminder

with each memory.