The Re-birth of the Forbidden Word

There is no logical explanation

why I'm still here for you.

I still feel the same way,

and my heart cries for pain

every time my brain stops it

from pouring emotions.

There is no single day

that I forget to remember you.

You are very much alive;

the inspiration, the dedication,

and the loyalty flow out like

gush of blood and stream of sweat.

There is no doubting

reality; truth liberates;

waiting is forever;

but what can I do?

I have LOVEd you,

without counting how many times.

Kites, Keys, Krinkles

One, school. In a jar. The only cookie, looks like one.
But it was tender, so tender. It melted down my throat.

Two, lunch. At an eatery. Generosity. My pseudo-aunt
placed on my palm that cookie look-alike. Still tender, so tender.

Three, internet. On the book of faces. I ate your timeline.
Thunders went down my spine. That cookie is a mystery.

You are the solution.

By chance.

***

*Krinkles intended

I couldn't steal it.

A Sky Poem

Making love in the sky.

You are a culmination of my wholeness.

You are the key to the door to sanctifying happiness—
to an untouched world, where I can fly along
with you freely,
sing with you,
move according to the music of the voices
that create colorful lines of light in the midnight sky,
making real love.

You are what I have been waiting for,
dreaming of,
praying for.

You are a dream in reality,
for I can see you clearly,
but I cannot touch you—
to let you sense how my soul
transforms in trance by seeing
your wholeness.

And of all existences, passions, humans, dreams,
there are no such other things like you.
What appears is
you.

Holey

Three words.

I failed to make you see the things that 

I thought would make you see the best in you.

I failed to get my message across—
that you are the best thinker I have ever met,
for you can think of me and the rest of your galaxies all at the same time.

I failed to speak with you, because every time there was a chance,
that small, elusive chance was like a tadpole that keeps on
slipping my fingers infinitely and getting lost in the dust.
It jumps back to my fingers and slips again to swim in the dust.

You are changing, morphing, turning into something existential—
something between the positive and negative poles,
for you are nowhere to be found.

I could not find that potion that regenerates a heart,
now holey, unnoticeably pierced by your furtive sword.
The heart you can easily slip from, like a tadpole
jumping through a flying circus ring.

The heart you can go back into, and add more holes.

It shall heal, the tadpole will become a frog
and forget that holey heart.
You are just in my holey heart.

I failed to tell you there are no holes.
There is only you.