Wilted

A distasteful stagnation creeps up on you. An unbearable emptiness thrums inside you. It does not let up. You wonder why the voracious need to crawl away from the world lingers. And deep in your heart you know that the fractious energy you used to have is gone. It melted a long time ago.

Now you feel like a candle ready to get blown out soon.

Day after day you rage and try to find your vigor, your willingness to laugh at silly little things, your vivacious inquisitiveness and your youth.You were hoping that they would rouse in you - the desire to deliciously consume life once again. Just like old times.

But the more you try, the harder it is for you to accomplish things.

You have to admit, you have now become a complete cliche in this godforsaken world.

Spooning

there is so much B E A U T Y
when flesh collide
on a soft midsummer night
heads sprawled on silk pillowcases
slant beating of hearts
resonating as one
the moon-shaped metaphors
of partially-owned urges
remains as a steady balm
palms tightly clasped
united endearingly
bodies wrapped around
fetal-like pose

then there is that
kiss bestowed at the nape of the neck

how can i not miss you?

Poetry in My Head

This craving that I almost always have - to mutter, to scream, to write, to bleed words is so strong, so intense, so insistent that I sometimes feel like I will explode if I let everything go by without scribbling down the wonderful things, the exquisite words or the stinging and biting rhetoric that I happen to hear or see in my everyday engagements.

My mind goes numb as I urticate trying to find the right consonants and vowels in my head. Yes, it is a constant struggle - gathering all the abbreviated thoughts I mean to write. But when everything has been written down, when all has been said and done, that's when I get to to sigh in utter contentment as I enjoy the god-like satisfaction of writing.

And silently, oh so silently, I listen to the exquisite sound of my thudding heart.

Thump... Thump... thump.