frisson

icarian

i want to cut the moon
into fine thin lines
of the winter's first snow
and take a hit

the dark black sky
my blotting paper 
dipped in yellow sunshine
a perfect balance of the 
yin and the yang

i need to keep it 
on the tip of my tongue 
and roll my tongue
into my mouth
like how the wave 
rolls up 
and vanishes
into the sea

one rush
after the other

summon the blue devils
and the wonder star
the white dove
sailing across
the sky
look how she flies

i want to dance with the devil
dance till the blue is black
and the white is red
and eat the star
and pet the dove
as she sits on my arm

crush the star
grind it fine
and cover myself in your angel dust
leaving a trail of smoke
emitting from 
flesh made divine

and all that

i need to do 

all that

just so that it resembles 
the hot shiver 
that runs down my spine 
as my mouth and lips and tongue 
meet my beloved's

balm

why does stepping out 

on a sunny day

feel like walking under drops of plastic rain 

and the air like sheets of glass

and water running through me

like with its jagged shards

why do i think of you

why do i think

that coming to you

would take that all away

make it all okay

why does

your blanket

feel like home

and the one on my bed

in my room

holds no warmth

why does the soft dim yellow light

in which your room basks

make the light that i hear

as i sit in what was my corner

seem like a thousand

angry agitated

madmen

shouting at me

why do i think of you

when they do

that

why do i think

that if you'd put your arm

around my chest

or let me put mine

around your waist

just by doing that

you could make this cacophony

petter down

silhouette of a moment

lull

while

a shirt
a dark white shirt
with a breast pocket
and a pen

not just any pen
a fountain pen
given as a gift
on my 1st death anniversary

it was black
shiny like ceramic

and the tip
the tip was silver
the tip of the cap
and the tip
at the bottom

it caught light beautifully
and threw out words

its fuel
was ink
regardless of the colour

on ink it fed
and satisfied my hunger
by the words it threw out

my breast pocket
and the pen
its best friend
always together
did fantasy trips together
chased dreams
lost causes
sulked and moaned
and roared
together

one day
one dull
bright 
saturday afternoon

both of them
high on life
decided to give it up
decided to give it all up

are you done
the pocket
asked the pen
i think so
replied the pen

you
asked the pen
me too
said the pocket

but can we please
do it together
hand in hand

wouldn't imagine
it any other way
one of them asked
both replied

so then
the pen
nestled in the pocket
and bled
silently bled dry

the pocket
which was the colour
of a dark white
was the colour 
of the pen's insides

absorbing all the pen 
had to give
giving itself up
as it did

and then it was all quiet
still
serene

and i saw them
from a distance
on a bright dull
saturday afternoon

a sad smile
the within me

and me
without

played out 
by a pen and a pocket

when would it be my turn
i thought

within replied
with a hand on my heart
in a while
my friend
in a short while

isle of timelessness

you take me 

and place me
in  a world
rendered timeless
with your words
spoken 

unsaid

this world
is one
which does not come
with the feeling of a start
or one coming to an end
this world, is

it is
hanging in soft suspension
moving swaying
gently
fervently  

to the music of jazz
the milky way

the rhythms and blues
the moon

and 70's rock
the sun

this world is
it exists

because
you
do

and

because

i

do

as a figment
of our collective
imagination
and animalism

and

as tangible as
the physicality of thought

and the unreal
luminous
gossamer,

a very  
veridical
touch

this world
the one you place me in
exists

in its own mind
and body
and yours and mine

and in ours

this place
is not one
with a start
or one coming to an end

this world
this place
its inhabitants
us

timeless
floating spirits
sometimes
screeching
sometimes, soothing
sometimes
needfully close
sometimes
comfortably afar

this world
is
because
you are

because
we are

what else is there
what else is there
beyond
timelessness

a shared timelessness
encapsulated into
moments

in a world

which has no
start
or an end

it just is
its swaying is
its soft suspension is
its invisibility
and its presence is

it is

the time

between

the ticking of watch hands

and the grains of sand

in a sand clock

it is the space 

in an empty glass

and a soaked within

it is a world

created 

by itself

a world

existence, of which

was willed 

by itself

because 

we breathe

and we will

and we want

and we want forever

this forever is 

the measure of time

in this world

the one that you place me in

with your words

spoken

unsaid