I was coming together...
limb by limb, after being broken
for an infinity.

there is some aching
that will only heal...
in the mosque of sleep.

tell me
of something fiercer
than the love with which
i gaze upon you

of something softer
than the tenderness
with which i hold you.

we are all like poems.
some of us rhyme. some don’t.
some are Pulitzer prizes
some are just scribbles

and yet, we all possess
a special kind of beauty

that can either heal
or cut to the bone

one that can never quite
be fathomed, nor forgotten.

there are some poems
that we leave behind
some that leave us behind

while some just live
silently
in the heart

crumble, sometimes
dwindle
disappear
die

and are reborn
when you smile again.

it is to be savored like a
seabreeze-whispered

dream...in the mysterious
blue minutes
before dawn

like a secret
infatuation.... like slow
languorous sips

of green tea... like a lingering
glimpse

a self-wrapped
paradise

like his name
upon my lips.