Just Wait .. The Morning After

Just Wait ...

Just wait

before you kiss me.

Take a second.

Look at me. 

You are so new, yet familiar. 

Right now, you don't know taste

nor how hands intertwine,

how bones exhale as you let go. 

You will never see me in this light ever again.

Take in the apprehension

from stoning this winter heart. 

Watch itself de thaw inside my pupils

all from gazing at you,

and when your eyes meet mine

follow them when darting away.

We are uncharted territories

hearts become two ships

passing in the night, 

only to long for each other in the morning,

and the ocean tide brings me back.

Anchor my pulse to your shore so

I cannot lose you again. 

Because the way a horse gives birth

is neither delicate nor fragile.

This is not a creature of liminal spaces,

but a four legged animal hellbent

on galloping with the wind,

scrambling after it's mother.

That's how I'm falling �"

(let the silence put things in place)

you, with the cigarette tongue and gentle kiss,

and I couldn't' tell you

beneath a street lamp 

I knew this would be something great. 

River currents now flood my mouth

as I drown out this pulse

a rain fall from eyes 

and I still see the fleet of wild horses. 

I know this comes off strong �" 

please remember that mammals 

are born knowing how to walk,

and can sometimes run within minutes. 

What we have does not need coo'ing or coddling. 

I'm sorry if I move too fast for you.

Slow me down if you must. 

Teach me how to walk with you.

When we wake up together and

the sun asks you to dance,

you will say yes with me. 

As seasons change, so will we.

He will leave me and I will lock myself.

Only to take the chain off the door another day. 

If he ever says all I write about

is the tempest of my fleeting,

and how I can never be happy,

I will scoff. I practice a dead man's float,

and I am learning how to create a smile

that will make the sun jealous, and melt snowflakes. 

Instead he will say

he wants to taste without commitment, 

hold hands

without the temptation of letting go.

Instead he will kiss me,

without having to wonder that

if he is away from me,

whether I am thinking of him or not. 

I do,

even in this coma. 

He says to me in a dream, "so am I."

Had you asked me about him 

the day after I saw his socials

I would ask him, why'd you have to 

be so cute

as it's impossible 

to ignore you �" 

I will learn to say goodnight n go. 

Had you asked me about him a few years ago,

I would be unsure; guess he is an attic. 

Closed off to the world. 

Emptiness housing card board boxes

collecting dust with stained photographs 

depicting a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Had you asked me about him 

in the darkest of nights,

I would have told you he

is a beautiful story book. 

I can hold him in my hand. 

Read him outside. 

Let the wind turn his pages. 

Last night, had you asked me about him

I would have told you he is a piano. 

Subtle and mellifluous.

Not understood by most. 

Only translated in the form of musical notions

to be listened by those who wanted to learn

about grief, love. 

Tonight �" if you were to ask me about him,

I would tell you he is nonchalant. 

Cold, distant, yet still so beautiful. 

A word that has been long unknown to me. 

Something I'm still trying to be okay with. 

I am unsure if he knows of Hadal,

but he swims in my depression as if

he's been here before. 

It is the deepest depths of the ocean.

I do not want to meet him there. 

I am a sea, and I will not let him drown. 

Even I'm confused by this poem. 

Saturday is a coy lover; 

he holds me in the morning. 

leaves me in the afternoon,

pushes me away in the evening,

and writes me a letter just before midnight. 

We both know how this ends.
There's no changing this, so make peace

with it now �" ready your hands for the callus,

shred the cloth for bandages, prepare the rosaries. 

In the dry burn of dawn,

after the last of the lashes,

the thorns, spittle, when his

limp body is laid to rest,

remember the nights you were falling

remember the ember of his oceans,

and how the words came like honey. 

I am smoking again

despite quitting for more than sixty days �" 

it's not a relapse, I just

survived a trial of manslaughter:

I never killed the old me,

and maybe, somewhere

crazed in agony and ripe with kamikaze, 

can love again still.

Love and fear

juxtapose, all while complimenting each other. 

There is no love if there is fear,

and there is no fear in the place of love �"

why do I fear love then?

I lit up a cigarette tonight

because I missed your taste.

I'm tempted to bury wild horses,

but they teach me how to run free

and with, or without you,

they're gonna watch me disappear into the sunset.

Watch me disappear into the sunset.  

Chase me. I run. 

I will come back for you though

even if its just to see a ghost.

You will never see me in this light again.

These bones exhale

something so new, yet familiar. 

Our hands are twined

through roots of watered down feelings.

We know the taste now.

Remember what I said earlier?

Look at me. 

Take a second.

Before you kiss me,

just wait. 

The Morning After …

I remember him saying

"I prefer shorter poems"

then here's to new beginnings babe.

Sooner or later, we know

how this well end

just like �"