I do not mean to

​I do not mean to pry, my dear,
But soothe this bitter longing
For reasons I can justify
And muse the songs I’m dawning

I do not mean to cry, my dear
But choose your answers wisely.
For I am brittle in your gaze
And end the night in sighing

In mornings I’m abiding
So passions will start weaning
Which currently are beaming
As slight teardrops, they are streaming

I do not mean to lie, my dear
But how can I confess…
The topic of my mind is you-
To love you less.



Kaleidoscope images transfixed into your heart
Projected In crystal irises
Gazing into me
Piercing internal glee
Squirming onto a plane of reality

The way a movie is shown on screen
Translating a visual anomaly
To be loved and seen
Clear and pristine
That cannot quite be
Captured in words

The way music is played
To strum a string
That only exists internally
That makes a body twist and scream
In anguished
torn cacophony

A symphony of emotion
Exploded in kinds
I do not really understand
Until I get to hold your hand
The function of touch
Starts to make sense

The epiphany
Breaking my lenses
And destroying the fences
Meant to protect

Which moves in beauty
Others will not show
Unless they come to intimately know
How flowers grow
How the wind blows

Cultivating a kind of personal art
Exhibiting a luscious glow
Sparking and inspires,
Wildly admired-

Wherever you choose to go.

Poem of Day: Happy Ending by Fleur Adcock

After they had not made love
she pulled the sheet up over her eyes
until he was buttoning his shirt:
not shyness for their bodies- those
they had willingly displayed- but a frail
endeavour to apologise.

Later, though, drawn together by
a distaste for such ‘untidy ends’
they agreed to meet again; whereupon
they giggled, reminisced, held hands
as though what they had made was love-
and not that happier outcome- friends.

Single Thought of Certainty

The world is full of weird professions
And people who specialise in particular skills
Who know how to fix book spines
Or arrange flowers
Or are experts of peanut butter kinds

There are those who dance Buto
Or bust a rhyme.
Create gastronomical sensations,
Clever puns in comedic time.

While I rile up intense anxiety
Completely lost in what to dedicate myself to-
I am only comforted by a single thought:

I know exactly how to love you.



each palm gave birth to five explorers
each given a purpose to work hard in tandem
laborious tasks always burdened
distracting attention span

working the weight of the task at hand
never once found a surface worth grazing soft
never once found the time to dance and enjoy
the subtle touch of the gentle sun

they found your palms,
found themselves intertwined
stopped fidgeting for the first time in their lives
found themselves content to last there a while
no longer restless
no longer wild

with a kind of curiosity never before seen
they scoped the scape of your facial screen
they caressed the best of the unseen
they wanted to know your body intimately

in order to geographically pinpoint the scene
most beauteous in their world of adventuring
despite having gone many places
they stand here aghast
finally having found paradise at last

wanderlust be damned
they will keep themselves planted here in your hands
happy to explore anything you should desire

they remain a companion to tarry along
giving support when you can’t be strong
guiding you forward when you can’t carry on

no longer stuck in a pattern of longing
tapping the surface of a table somewhere.



the canine mind knows no concept of time
this poodle sits at home, patiently waiting
at the slightest noise he starts to whine
testing himself and hasty debating

he barks at the street pedestrians
innocently walking past
he barks at the other dogs citizens
marking their spots at long last

it can seem like an eternity
for beloveds to return and scrap the keys
it is an endless yearning
these puppy eyes teeming with pleas

and should he know he awaits in vain
should he refrain from having the pain
he’ll trick himself, playing this game
he’ll continue on, doing the same.

Short Bursts



Just a fun idea of how to imagine your love would exhibit itself if it was physical.

The feeling one gets
From swallowing food down the wrong pipe
That erupts in coughs of desperate breaths

That is how my love bursts for you

As if short gasps spastic
Longing for oxygen
is the lack of the air
You reside in

Eyelids filling with biological tears
Uncontrollable in designation
I must stop here and stand for a while
To regain my composure

A pause;
T’was a shock that made me lose all routine reason
I am quite skilled at delivering food gastronomically

It was the thought of thee looking directly at me
Made me choke and lunge for the particles

A fit of admiration
I have no constraints
Nor restraints
Nor act tame
To disguise this repertoire,

All I can do is stand far
And sit in recovery
Wondering thusly
If these bursts of desire
Will take my breath away
Once more.