sonnet two hundred twenty

when we obscure the
subtleties and expose
the masked, tangible
coordinates, places that

lead us to who we
are and what we can
make of this, to the
nest of reveries that

hang in the midst
of our sleep and our
wake, to fists of

arguments that wrestle
with the shadow of
our own lonesome song.

sonnet two hundred nineteen

you lie where the threads
begin to unravel the
destiny we thought we
were making, and we

turn to a corner that
holds all beliefs and
disbeliefs, the alleys
that embrace faith

in the existence of things
that cannot be seen
nor touched -

and we understand
that such is enough to
keep desiring.

sonnet two hundred eighteen

i sing to the glazed, red
hues of the clouds soaked
by the sun, and see
the impatient wind

hum and hover above
the truest of truths -
daunted by the alpha
aspiring punctuations

married to the epic
that is our onset
and our end -

and the ceaseless
understanding and
fear that lies in between.

sonnet two hundred seventeen

the savage landscapes
mourning the hours we
stay awake, the moments we
spend apart, clinging

to perpetual resonances
- of names hailed and
spoken in the dark, of
the blackness drowning

the still, impenetrable us,
we arch our embrace so
it may take the shape

of who we dream of
becoming, so it may take
the form of light.

sonnet two hundred sixteen

as the dust collected on
blistered shadows and angled
dreams, the dimensions
shifted to suddenly simply

telling this story of you
and me on a road that
fumbles and twists with
each day we forego the

pain and forgive the
inconsistencies, with each
moment we gauge

the silence of hunted
smiles and of unending
poems and desires.

sonnet two hundred fifteen

with bated breath we
confine ourselves in
circles of the fiercest
need we both have

ever felt, we both
have ever known, without
the necessity to measure
misery or distance,

without the nagging
red stranger that is
loneliness, without any

other thought but
our reality, this, us, now,
and the next vacant hours.

sonnet two hundred fourteen

tiptoeing around the noon
of your sleep, or the naked,
yawning dawn that carried
the divine shadow of your

body in languor, time
in a day marked by the
painful hours apart, alone
i would imagine the phases

your breathing instill
upon walls and ceilings
of a heaving, perpetual

need, to discern your
thoughts, bubbles within
your mind as you lay.

sonnet two hundred thirteen

we hide our unguarded
desires under a coal mine,
just like an amaranth,
all a dream until it

aches and blisters and
could no longer stop itself
from manifesting, like
heedless blossoms staring

skyward, tracing the steps
until it touches the
vague blue clouds,

until all it knows is that
it must follow - the sound,
the sight, the feel of your voice.

sonnet two hundred twelve

haunted by the scent of ash,
we have been standing in
the middle of a fire,
ever so consumed by this

desire, where, even in the
gorge of our souls are elevated
by the ceaseless red and
orange flames, running

towards the creation
of random clouds of
thoughts that bear only

what we long have held
for one another, what
we make of who we are.

sonnet two hundred eleven

we aid ourselves with formulas
and we make our own,
silence and depth makes up
for what we share in minutes

taken away by arguments,
like blades or scalpels used
to write across our skin,
drawing the red unforgiving

blood of things that once
held our desires and the rain
of fire that go with it,

now everything has been
washed down, soaked, submerged,
waiting for a little rescuing.

not today

they say it is always darkest before dawn. and the darkness breeds fear and despair and helplessness. but not today. not this very moment.

all there is to this universe today is you. all there is for me this very second is you. and if the world will come to an end i am certain i'd have known love, i am certain i 'd have known faith.

things have never been easy, and perhaps they never will be easy. but i would take that over nothingness. i would take difficulties and failures and shortcomings over a life without you. i can no longer imagine a day without you. i have ceased allowing myself to understand how there could be this world if you did not at all exist. i know we have this immense distance between us and we sometimes fail to see things as they should be seen. but...i still catch myself in awe of what we have so far done to keep everything that we have together. to keep each other.

that realization fuels this invisible fire inside of me - it helps me comprehend why some things work, and why some do not. i would like to believe that we have come this far not only because our intentions are good and that our hearts are in the right place but because we know we ought to be here - right in this spot, right in this time, right here with each other. we have taken the long road together and frankly, i am unsure when this road will ever end, but you have made the journey worthwhile and if i will be asked if i will choose to do this in a different lifetime, the answer would be 'of course.'

as long as it is with you. as long as it is because of you.

the most powerful things i have experienced in life weren't the moments everything seemed perfect, they were when things were in the brink of destruction and we were catching our breaths trying to patch things up. they are when we were fighting too hard and tears have clouded my vision yet all i could think of is saving us. they are when others tell me that what we are doing seems impossible and i feel the gaping hole inside me, yet for some wicked reason i would feel that you will always be there to fill it and make sense of me.

i have never really thought hard of why we meet people at certain times in our lives - i guess i always have fate to attribute that to. but now i am beginning to think that things happen the way they do because of all the choices we have made from the time we could affect our own destinies. we are here because we chose to be here. we are here because our decisions led us to this time and place. we are here because we are bound to teach each other something. and just look at how much we have done to stay with each other and make our decisions be about each other and for each other.

so no matter how dark the night gets, no matter how helpless we seem to be because of things we cannot understand, please know that i am making a conscious choice to be here because i have realized there is more to life when i share it with you, because i know that there is nothing we cannot resolve together, because i know that i have found my meaning in this world.

i am here because of you and though things have been inconsistently painful and inconsistently blissful, you can expect to find me where you left me, or at least expect to find me where i want to be found - beside you, staring at you, aching to hold your hand, my thoughts spiraling because after all these years i am still crazy about you - you have managed to elicit that kind of reaction from me - it is inexplicable and could be a little exhausting but hey, if it means being allowed to keep you then who cares about having to always explain things and getting tired.

like all the days we confront together, this is just the beginning. and i am glad i have found someone who is willing to always begin with me. someone who takes interest in seeing old things and old ways with a new perspective, someone who, i know, years and years from today, would see the sunrise with me in our sunset days.

happy anniversary, mahal.

three hundred sixty five

it has been exactly three hundred sixty five days today - since the last time, i and you.

it has been that long and i am still haunted by the memory of having to trace your shadow until it was swallowed by the darkness...that is, the airport. :)

but seriously...

it has been three hundred sixty five days and i remember how i struggled to comprehend how things will be, once you leave. i remember how my heart wanted to simply let things be because i know i can never offer you what you will gain from this experience. i also remember telling myself that if i will wait, that if i will allow you to leave, if i will risk all that i have come to love so she may find a piece of her life, then i would have to trust you, and the reality that nothing happens by chance, and that there is a reason for everything.

your journey has become my journey. when i started writing, all i could envision were roads and avenues and bridges and pavements - everything that is a metaphor to where you are going, where i am going to sit and wait and where you will find me.

a year later, i am still here. and i am still craving for you, i am still crazy about you. a year later, what i hold is still seething, it's still burning, all because of you. believe it or not.

i am in awe of how we have sustained each other, of how we dealt with the changes and how, after all the seemingly innumerable and insignificant seconds, i know we can tell each other that 'we' still matter.

and we do - we always have and we always will. no matter how scarring an argument becomes, no matter how frightening the distance is, no matter how long we both have to wait - we will get there, you and i. we will be together, we will be with each other, we will share that lifetime.

everything about this journey has been bittersweet. we have failed and stumbled and sometimes, have succumbed to our own incapacity to see what the other person sees but i am proud we have taken it this far, that we have chosen to take it this far. and i know even when things are hopeless (mostly because i resort to crying when i can no longer explain myself), we will never give up. i know because i can feel it. i know because i would wring my heart of all feelings if i have to just to show you and let you know how much i love you.

for now, i will offer you my words, my thoughts, my conviction - all the things that you have fueled and have given meaning to. for now, i will offer you three hundred sixty five sonnets - all created with the notion of you coming back, with the faith that you will, as you have promised.

every day, we will start. every day, we will attempt. every day, we will live so we never have to doubt if our sacrifices ever counted for anything, so we will never have to second guess whether all our tears were worth it. now that an entire year has passed and i no longer dread the hours or days or months i have to wait for you - i know we will always meet in the middle. or at least we'd always try to compromise and show each other our perspectives. this whole thing has given me a different view of you and of us, and i have to say i am grateful, that even when we are away from each other, you never cease to teach me something new.

i love you, as i always have. i love you, like it is the last thing i ever want to feel. i love you and i will be waiting.

sonnet two hundred ten

the weeping lyre of your
heady desire, taking the
space where raw and pure
thoughts once were,

the roof angered by the
rain as you interpret
your own dreams, as you
guard your own notions

as you sleep, white becomes
this pale, almost unrecognizable
arid wall where your fireworks

hang waiting to be ignited,
giving birth to unimagined
colors and noise and light.

sonnet two hundred nine

silence is not all about
listening, perhaps it is about
predicting a thought or
tasting a moment

such as now, when i
would sheepishly count
the number of times your
breasts heaved to the

rhythm of your heartbeat,
painting the meaning
of sleep and of restlessness,

i find my eyes tracing
the glory of your brows,
your aquiline nose, your cheeks.

sonnet two hundred eight

the night armless, like this
lonely chair in the corridor,
basked by pondered light
from fireflies, reminiscent

of my childhood, when
i did not know the needs
from wants, when i did
not stop to listen to the

name spoken by the scent
of a rose, when my youth
consisted of a word or two -

always a dream, of finding
one, of leaning and loving
and beginning in the end.

sonnet two hundred seven

still, the back of my hand,
a blank, seething space that
ache to be filled by exclamations
of you and this, of here

and now, summoning the
black ink like it appears
inside my head, taking the
place of lines and of contours,

humbling the heights and
defining what didn't have
shape or form, idled by

mornings awakened by the
siren, a clarion call, a need
to scream your name.

sonnet two hundred six

thoughts burn the halted, fleeting
escape of this book, aching
to be filled by you, yearning
to be taught the language

of languor and stares
to make you remember how
each day is sanctified,
how each step is offered

so we may begin, so we
may continue, so we may
defeat the loneliness

spilled by treacherous nights,
so we may endure hours
that seem empty and endless.

sonnet two hundred five

let me wring your loneliness
and devour the sand it
grows from, allow me to
take this one time and

hold you close, so close you
will feel the weight
of your love on me and
tell you, my beloved -

that though pain and
absence may plague the
days and nights ahead,

i shall think of only you
when i begin unfolding the
notion of happiness and of life.

sonnet two hundred four

staring at what could be
our life streaming before
our eyes, particles sifted
mercilessly though

mysteries hidden and
borne out of the light
and wind of your soul,
cascading, swirling, swimming

the opportune moments such
as this, through chances that
unraveled and which our

hands took, though a love
that is nameless but
spirals thriving, giving.

sonnet two hundred three

what if one day we will
be asked - have you been to
the only place worth living
in? what would we tell

ourselves? i would exhale
and take in all the wonders
i have seen, carefully mapping
tracks and coordinates,

moving in painful circles
to find you and end up
with you each and every

time, and hold your gaze
up to mine - you are the only
place worth going back to.

sonnet two hundred two

the minutes pass, the hours
clawing the distant dawn,
awaiting your gaze, and all
i could remember was how

we both have appeared
in this time - and how
nothing could be more exact
and everything that breathes

is finite, i trace the thousand
sunrises and sunsets with
my discerning eyes,

knowing ultimately that none
of the mornings or evenings
past would compare.

sonnet two hundred one

rushing to filter the light
pouring from your eyes,
i find an inescapable gorge
where your beauty dwells,

raw and pure and
tangible as any glorious truth
could get, i imagine holding
in my hands all the webs and

fiber that make you
astoundingly and astonishingly
who you are - after all

these days, after all that
has come and gone, after
what we have forged.

sonnet two hundred

my thoughts stumble until
it finds you in the corner,
sheathed with all that
i can recall of warmth,

the granulated red hues of
a burning afternoon sun
soon possess the carving
metaphor of that day you left,

as you walked away from me,
as i traced the steps you
took leading you to a place

without me, a night without
us, days and moments we would
be enveloped by faith and hope.

sonnet one hundred ninety nine

i took the chance and
ravaged in my own loneliness
in this long road, and when
i stopped, that was when

my feet started to ache,
perhaps because i have
been wishing i walk on
avenues with you instead,

ahold of my hand,
ahold of an immutable fire,
ahold of the promises,

allowing the sunlight to
disperse through a prism
until nothing remains but us.

sonnet one hundred ninety eight

the indelible shade of crimson
i now call you has touched
all corners and alleys of my
night, bleeding, fumbling,

conniving with the odd seconds
that brought us together,
hastening all the hours to
the vacant cities within your

gaze, dragging lines across
parchment, as if to remind
me i am soulless without

the scent of your and
how you know things, how
you reach for me here and there.

sonnet one hundred ninety seven

who would have thought that
distance will teach us the meaning
of nights spent alone, of gaping
silence, of windows flung open

letting in a shower of light,
who would have thought that
slumber will draw both of us
closer to the weight of wake,

to the elements that plague
our hours when we are apart,
to the fragrant delirium of

moments when we are
at war, or when we are faced
by the narrowing roads ahead.

sonnet one hundred ninety six

and we crush against waves
and thoughts and helplessness,
these hands ache to follow
the trail of words uttered by

this poet, wringing the
pain from midnights when
i held you, when i touched
your face,when i allowed

myself to be mesmerized,
now all so distant, now all
gone, now all that were

just seemed, like an apparition,
like a remembrance, like
the cold whisper of air at dawn.

sonnet one hundred ninety five

the winter trembling
at the sound of your voice,
necessary and haunting,
as if a reminder of one

who triumphs in this
desolation, in this desperation,
your eyes blanket the
dusk, halts it from

ever coming near, words
perennially lost to
the depth of your soul

and the meaning of these
bruises we hold out of
too much love, out of sadness.

sonnet one hundred ninety four

we fish mirrored hopes from
the stream that pass that
bend visions, the water that
seeps unto river beds,

holding the tears that
came between, the laughter
that managed somehow
to escape the silence running,

the last of lasts languishing
leaping memories of you and
i, my lost captive and

undeniable chain, a restless
fumbling within minutes and
void filled only by you.

sonnet one hundred ninety three

your happiness drowning
against the silhouette of
your sun and the shadow
of today, i ask myself,

can i at all make you happy?
can i be truthful to our
dreams, can i ever be enough
to keep you going?

shrouds of who we are
conflicting with the
brightness emanating from

clouds that once belonged
to someone else's wants,
how do we make it ours?

sonnet one hundred ninety two

tracing the lines of that
which embrace you with
my infinite eyes desiring
endlessly, perpetually

the degrees and decimal
points in which you exist,
fallen and deceptively
corroding against the time

you are running up against,
staring out the window that
bears the tomorrow

that has yet to unfold,
that we have yet to chase,
that we have yet to live.

sonnet one hundred ninety one

sometimes i am crushed by
my own selfish sadness
the lines and contours
of tears and frown

married to the incandescent
flight of morning,
chained to my own wonder
of whether we will make it

or not - but i know
that depends on us, that
it all boils down to how much

of this we want to see,
how much of you i can
keep, how much of us will remain.

sonnet one hundred ninety

this is just the prologue
to the inescapable light of
your soul and the prism
that extends to mine,

the beginning of a journey
you traced and have
effortlessly embraced,
this is the onset to more

days of seeking the towering
and haunting meaning of
poetry, or rather the heart

you have given it, this is
about your triumph
and my faithful desire.

sonnet one hundred eighty nine

crouched in the darkness
was the bud awaiting
the unbearable lightness,
breathing under the stark

tyranny of the dusk
consuming all that life held
before the aching midnight -
the flower that bore the

delight and promise of
things that are to be revealed,
for today there will be

no mention of hunger or pain,
no mention of tears or suffering,
just the hope of unraveling.

sonnet one hundred eighty eight

possibilities of disasters,
binaries in affirmations,
all lead to one truth - you -
a faithful, hazy sky

to a midnight soaked in
orange rush, a silent
reverie crushing
nightmares that make me

tremble, a hopeful shade
of being, destroying nothingness,
an unexpected delight amidst

loneliness and soul-searching,
you have become all these
beautiful things, and more.

sonnet one hundred eighty seven

tides surging back and forth,
drowning and revealing the
full and unquestionable
delight of knowing who

you truly are -
we chase timid mornings
and unforgiving nights
and utter the promise

of two who will never
break nor give up, of
two who will never stop -

the textual inspiration
from the wild and flowing
sun, intoxicating these words.

sonnet one hundred eighty six

always earthbound to the
splendor of your name or
the fragrance of the sound
it makes when it leaves

my mind and escapes my
lips, always drawn toward
the exactness of your
intimate flesh, of your

dreamy, imagined paradise -
we walk and embrace
and look at all that

once was real, and continue
to believe the same rocks
and stones make us an altar.

sonnet one hundred eighty five

among landscapes that reveal
the cold and pensive loneliness
of night, of prisms, of reveries,
we hail the excised blood

out of days that went
on without waiting,
and realized we are still
here and we have remained,

lips trembling, thoughts
spilling, words running after
the intended eloquence

of stares and beginnings,
even that of things fleeting
and ending.

sonnet one hundred eighty four

seeping into the night,
waiting for a dawn under
your glances, seeking the
whiteness of whispers and

the timid pleasure of
your laughter, hunting
shadows and statues that
begin to resemble you

there are no metaphors
this very moment, only
the reality of the fog

lifting, baring the
lonely door where i would
wait for you.

sonnet one hundred eighty three

imaginary gardens holding
the blossom of your gaze
and the leaves of your smile,
the radiant beginnings

of irises and magnolias
spiraling and crawling
under the listless sun,
tempted as ever to scream

for your rain, to dance
to the rhythm and sing
to the meaning of

these words finding their
soul in traces of
synonyms and awakenings.

sonnet one hundred eighty two

highways and pavements
stretch themselves to
no end, the city cluttered
by unfeeling metals that

move, we stop and we start,
closer and closer to an
evening with you, nearer
and nearer to the sight

of you - blinking signs
and head-spinning noise,
a twisted representation

of the haywire inside
my brain, haunted by
the wish i am holding you.

sonnet one hundred eighty one

finally, i have the dark
alleys to understand my
loneliness, lastly - i have
found the meaningful

stops between stations
to crave for my breath
the way you did, these hands
shaken by the gravity of

thought, the wish that i
was sharing this very moment
with you - but that is exactly

what i am doing right now -
summoning your image and
holding your gaze like always.

sonnet one hundred eighty

i write this as i am on
a train, hoping it carries
me to you fast enough
so you may forget

i was even gone for
a while, clutching to
the movements that held
our sacredness and

the seconds that kept
our desires, painfully,
faithfully, sweeping through

the lit side streets and
avenues, wanting to see
but one face, one smile.

sonnet one hundred seventy nine

what do you do on dissipating
fridays? do you lull yourself
to sleep because of languor,
or do you wait for the gods

to leave a window open so
you can, once more, glance
at all that belongs to you?
do you mark the last few

days because you want
to remember the good times
in case we argue?

or do you hold my faith
fervently in your hands
and seek nothing else?

sonnet one hundred seventy eight

and i caught myself
trapped in a scare, a doubt
that i would ever be able
to write without a muse,

or without the surprise
of randomness - this is one
such an exercise, when i pray
my passion would be enough

to make words fly without
wing or wind, where the fire
is sustained by gazes and

the need elevated by touch,
lifting your veil to finally
reveal all the beauty you are made of.

sonnet one hundred seventy seven

slithering across paper
a litmus to the truth,
the hot, orange furnace
of the sun, a brand, a

mark in the aching
parallels of today, we partake
in the feast of punctuations
and the ripples they cause

upon words and thoughts,
the halt, stop, pause
awaiting the next scream

awaiting the next few
moments my sanity will
be lost out of so much hunger.

sonnet one hundred seventy six

a shiver releasing a tremor,
an argument unveiling the
havoc, but what truly matters
is how not you put out the

fire but rather how you
face it and embrace it
and build a cloud
from it, until

it empties itself in one
languorous downpour, trapping
you and i under the

silken night sky, we look above
and see the infinite brightness
of ember and light.

sonnet one hundred seventy five

we hold our eyes out to
the shards and pieces of
glass and its mechanism -
how it mirrors and reflects

all the good things we know,
all that of which we have
been blessed with,
the prism touching one

lonely white, awaiting
a quiet demolition of the
pain that rooted itself

from our tears, i only hold
our gazes for you now,
my lifetime, following your path.

sonnet one hundred seventy four

sunsets breathing, glances
reigning, the light chasing
what could be memories,
and reveries, toward the

sanctified and perpetual,
re-tracing the shrines and
altars that once held
the end and the beginning

of us, of this, of you and
me - but clearly, i know
only of beginnings with you,

i know only of the fiery,
passionate onset that
has taken us this far.

sonnet one hundred seventy three

boundaries hold the
bone of our bones and
the shimmering cherry red
that which is our blood,

i cry silently against
the hollows of the gray
sky, hoping you would
soon remember the truths

said that morning before
all hurt and chaos dawned
on our half-made conversations,

on battles we wage without
seeing eye to eye, on crises
that spill crimson.

sonnet one hundred seventy two

not seemingly enough,
we stretch ourselves -
who we were, who we ought
to be, who we are as of now,

and then when our skin
breaks, the muscles tear
and the bones snap,
love and chemistry splatter

on the ground, look at what
we have turned into -
geeks of lore and myth,

of a journey we say we
will embrace, a phantom that
sneaks in, a light bursting out.

sonnet one hundred seventy one

carved painfully out of
quiet moonstones, we glare
like the middle of the night,
armored in nothingness

and cloaked by our own
spirited desires, jumping
back and forth to thoughtless
cautions, the darkness

flagging a warning sign -
of greens and reds, of
stops and gos, to and

from the pensive twilight
we both so yearn for,
chaotically hungry for more.

believe me

when i say there are still moments when i drown in my own silence and in my own tears.

and that there are still moments i wonder if we could actually make this work. if i am actually the one for you. if you have met the person you want to spend the rest of your life with in me. i wonder quietly if i have made the last two years worthy of remembrance.

and in the last two years i have often thought whether you have fully understood just how much i love you. whether you have actually seen how much of my own loneliness my heart stood to battle so i can continue being with you, so i can continue loving you, so i can continue. i have asked myself ceaselessly - have i done enough to make you realize how much you are loved? have i done enough to make you see how much you have taught me about patience and passion, how much we both have gained because we made the choice to be here?

this is one such moment i would like to offer you - i know i will never be empty of words or thoughts to name after you. and though i know this barely resembles the feel of my touch or the taste of my kiss, i want for you to believe that this is as real as everything about me could get, all because this would not exist without you. because you have triumphed in giving this meaning.

sonnet one hundred seventy

don't you think i already
know what it means to wait,
don't you think i already
have understood the gravity

of loneliness, our hearts so
effortlessly bruised and
cracked by stones of madness
we gathered on nights that

lost its solemnity because
of promises i could never keep,
because of words i failed

to utter when you needed to
hear them, because of my
own incapacities, my own frailties.

sonnet one hundred sixty nine

our ghosts pick up the
flesh we left on a sidewalk,
and call it its own sheathe,
its own armor, its own form,

then we escape into the night,
thoughtless and deep into
the dream of fiction and
caress, humbled by the

fumbling auroras created
by sunrises with you, dawns
that conjure the silence

of our own heartbeat,
the conundrum of our own
loud voices chained to a surrender.

sonnet one hundred sixty eight

water drowns in itself,
the foam roused by waves
that swing back and forth,
violently through listless sand

and your hands break
the consuming shell and fire
of things we keep to
allow for this a bright and

blessed sanctuary, a night
never to be abandoned
by your embrace, a time

we would continue to seek
the fervor and loneliness
only to be cured by your smile.

sonnet one hundred sixty seven

woven from the unfurling
thread of light, basking in
golden reveries, aching underneath
the twilight, underneath

the chimes that ring in my
head, bearing only the sound
of your name and how
i am lulled to sleep by

the sheltering dusk and
how it hovers on statues
that hold no resemblance

to your stillness or peace,
begging, breaking, beginning,
a journey of the endless.

sonnet one hundred sixty six

the words roused and taunted
by seldom, searching, seething
distance and differences
that bring us to the call,

the entwined phrases arching
itself to the shades
of gray that bend in the
breaking white darkness

that circle and filter the
perpetual desire we were
borne of, you and me,

clasping each other's hands, holding
the faint soul of summer
until the last leaf unfolds.

sonnet one hundred sixty five

tossed in arbitrary and
undefined depths, this soul
is earth bound, with the
happenstance reaching what

could be its meaning,
chained and calloused by
the recollection of this mindless
pace, too soaked or sudden

for lingering silence,
the haze and motion of
colors yet to be named,

overcoming resilience and
all that which stifle the
best of us both.

sonnet one hundred sixty four

here we fight the fleeting
memories with words and
hope, here we arrest the
blinding light that

snatch the sum of our
elegy until a sonnet is
named to recollect
seconds we both can hold on to,

so that stares will never
be broken and thoughts
thrown in air would suffice

to keep roses from moving
to different tangents,
following you and me.

sonnet one hundred sixty three

you pull your absence out
of my flesh like it is some
vein to be wrung or some
blood to be drawn, gazes

averted by the conundrum
of things we cannot undo,
still we walk upon beaten
paths and call to our hope

and faith to bind souls
and longing into a fortress
that never will deny the

measure and meaning of
this journey, a desire that
unravels and ascends.

sonnet one hundred sixty two

i catch words and signs
and pain in degrees, from
things that hold the
cold and fumbling silence

of a difference in time,
etched on the shoulder of
faith, a lasting lash of
leaves heaving as nocturnal

atoms find its way through
perennial shores aching for
translation, needing a sort of

conclusion or demise -
so what do you give it in
this merciless height?

sonnet one hundred sixty one

hidden in unmapped cities,
edges where i wait under
the naked sun, singing my
soul out of silence until

you become my own hands
and loneliness is nothing
but a white reverie that
dances its way through low

afternoons, shadows fall
behind, humming to the
flickering energy of

stars before they even
appear, before they blot
the satin night sky.

sonnet one hundred sixty

this shade of blue bends
and recollects the beginning,
wanting you from afar,
haunted by what it did not know

high and distracted by
the mere tremble of your
voice when you speak,
even fragments are elemental -

which were all it could take
that one moment and it
felt like an assassin waiting

for the faces to retreat
so it can be near you, so it can
draw life from what you give.

sonnet one hundred fifty nine

we morph into blades that
run to the deep, cornerless
abyss of night, i take with
me the gentle fragrance of

my name as you would say it,
as if to make me forget
the haze and the pandemonium,
as if to make out of me

a soldier moving on to battle
armored with only the thought
of you - and i know this is

something i can do, chained
to your kiss in the mist,
in the mysteries, in the morning.

sonnet one hundred fifty eight

i cut us a piece of this
night, a fragment of each
revolution and gather
all of them to create a

sheathe blocking out the
raging sun and obscuring
the heedless pain of being
without you, without the

hands that cradled the
sacred flowers of spring,
aching, rebelling, needing

only the whiskey soaked
laughter to resurface
and face the night again.

sonnet one hundred fifty seven

my lips utter the truth
of who i have become,
under your gaze, within
your embrace, beneath the

silken, crescent moon
the void swallowing what
once before made sense
as all things found their

meaning in the shadows
bound to the road where
we held hands and sought

a trail filled with hope,
drowning in kindness,
arrested by love.

sonnet one hundred fifty six

my heart burns in the solitude
of dawn, when everything is
pitch black until your voice
renders color and the light

breaks what could be a
photograph of languor,
stillness sharpen the movement
of your eyes, undressing

the unfathomable delight
of this soul, touched then
soon gone now, seconds beat

and moments are replaced
by a tender yearning
to be dissembled by your hands.

sonnet one hundred fifty five

impoverished and driven
kneeling at the foot of your
fragrant recollection,
energy thriving in the midst

of what seemed to be
an eon of separation -
but this is only a figment
of what we are made of,

a grain, an iota, an almost
unnecessary trail toward
loneliness - let me stop you now

and show you a path where
flowers burn at the sign
of you and me, clasping and wishing.

sonnet one hundred fifty four

the world has come to its
peace, the revolution put
to a halt, sudden and indulging,
as i gaze at you in awe,

how tangents and exponents
have gathered to create
a perfect shape, a perfect
symmetry, a truth that

cannot be questioned, an answer
to be sought, a prayer to be
uttered and a destiny to be

fulfilled - all seconds to be
hailed immutable and insufferable,
all moments to be offered to you.

sonnet one hundred fifty three

eyes shut, lips tight against
the murk of emptiness,
the evening angered by the
rain relentless and hovering,

despite the darkness, i know
that nothing in you is
inadequate, that nothing
in you is accidental,

your sanctity defined by
your own holy hands and
furtive wishes, the veil

of your light lifted by
an origin, a for that requires
nothing else to exist.

sonnet one hundred fifty two

we break from the unfeeling,
sacrilegious habit of doubting
our capacity to love, our desire
to remain in this one

tender instant, we free ourselves
from the fragmented memories
our hurt has delved into and
crush the seconds it was

ever allowed - this soul and
these hands are fallible, beloved,
but your brightness has

blessed my faith with the courage
to continue believing we will
emerge from this, we will triumph.

sonnet one hundred fifty one

your laughter erupts
from within stones, within
thoughts, from within
bare and pensive silence

chaining my heart to
the sound, the gentle whisper
of our memory,
your laughter has vanquished

shadows and has allowed
the light of midnight
find its fullness once more -

and such a miracle would
suffice, such a gift would
be enough today.

sonnet one hundred fifty

argued tenderness bruising
the night, singing to an
unwritten note, a piece
of light crawls inside

my head, playing with the
vision of skies and sunflowers,
picking apart sorrows and
miseries like they would

expire and die the next,
i pull out, from the edge of
our recollection this one

beginning, solitary and afire,
perfumed by desirous, wounding,
familiar intimacies.

sonnet one hundred forty nine

no deep waters or rumbling
seas tonight, just a notion,
just a thought, just a moment
of listening to your voice

whilst the pages thirst
for more of you and me,
for more of that which
we cannot see,

no more lullabies to swing
this head to and from our
bed, no more arresting

moonlight groping the shadow
we make dancing, no more
hesitations, no more confinements.

sonnet one hundred forty eight

the walls of this room
welcome undefeated, silence
clamoring for the anguish
of this desire, aching to be

marked and embraced,
opened and scarred and bled
christened by the fire of
your gaze, a white light,

a muted affinity that
erupts from blinded, colossal
irises, the color effervescent,

playing upon the deepened
cut of some more trembling
hands, shaken in flesh.

sonnet one hundred forty seven

the creases on your hand
sheltered by the night sky,
warm like an ember, full
of intent like the rain,

your face sheltered by
the peaceful hymn of
the sunrise, by the undaunted
shadow of a dream

the surface of a
sad, waxed, silent moon,
wandering along a knife's

edge - how do we overcome
the ramblings and release,
quick, sudden, in between.

sonnet one hundred forty six

you have yet to teach me
how to put all your tears
in a jar and tuck them
away, or how to pick all the

flowers your laughter brings
forth, or how to sanctify
distances and endure a journey,
you have yet to teach me

how to be all these for
you everyday - your breath,
your light, your delight,

you have yet to teach me
that desire feeds upon itself
and consumes without caution.

sonnet one hundred forty five

here, be gentle, an irrevocable
invitation offered only to
you - my lifetime -
here, touch me and kiss me

here, i beg you to look at
me like you have never
loved or laid eyes on anyone
before or since

here, let the silence drown
in laughters and cries when we
make love, here, forget that

this very minute will end,
we won't let it, here, where
skin means conduction.

sonnet one hundred forty four

diving into lashes, into hairs
woven to resemble the most
beautiful, i am stuck someplace
dreaming that your face

resurface from sunrises,
caging the light and fluttering
against atoms, hovering above
sparks, fireworks, a thousand

and one ways to unescape,
love lost in its own wild,
incessant laughter, lost in its

own unlosing, meditating to
the grace that is your name,
finding fragrance, finding mist.

sonnet one hundred forty three

the conundrum roused by
the echoing sound of still
and unperturbed glances
emanating from you,

the world flung its arms
around me, a feeling that
begs of emptiness, it is
never the same without you

roses find its way to the
murk, wilts and dies,
losing the red, losing the sanity

aching for your permanence,
resurrecting your laughter that
always held the meaning of meanings.

sonnet one hundred forty two

thoughtlessly, a word spills,
a scar never heals, the night
resolves to silence, the sunset
succumbs to its splendor

your face etched in the
sky, awaiting the rain
to drown what is left
of my heart and what

is left, just that -
the eloquence of your gaze
maims and breaks my

reserve, halts and impedes
our journey from
ever taking a different turn.

sonnet one hundred forty one

you come to me like a
dark song would cross
borders and slither its way
through the pandemonium -

with a penchant for sad
things and most of them
miserable and tainted
and unpaved

you come to me like a
dark song hailing the night
sacred and pure

with memories only of allies
where we met, of roads
where we left.

sonnet one hundred forty

the gnawing cold and abrasive
wind reminds me just how
much warmth there is
when we sit close to each other,

your eyes intent in its stare,
as if no moment would
soon meet its death, as if
a fall could ever be gentle,

now, thriving on 'as if's,'
we are prisoners of an
undisclosed yearning and of

an immeasurable light,
unfixed, unsteady, escalating,
drowning the sense of sadness.

sonnet one hundred thirty nine

a still, brave, singular perspective
of you - your gift, your sin,
your peace, your havoc,
a faint cry of despair

hanging to the threads
that weave our memories
together, of the laughters
that humbly remind us

of what we could be,
your arms is exactly where
my anguished depth

exists, awaiting to be maimed,
owned and conquered,
awaiting to ascend.

sonnet one hundred thirty eight

and the harmony captures
the light ignited by a thousand
deep, atrocious, delirious
seconds lashing for your

intent and craving for your
energy, swords abandoned
and armors fall, drawn to
the victory of finding you -

and keeping you, bound to
the wrist of timelessness
offering the shattered

retreat of this heart
claiming the broken web of
its willing slave and origin.

sonnet one hundred thirty seven

trapped in the crest of
loneliness, the blood of this
battle heighten and dissemble
the veins that long for you

constantly, breaths heave
in warring silence, eyes seething,
skin burning like an ember
in a dense, cold midnight

done with deceit, and there
never was a surrender to things
without faith, there never was

a defeat in the songs i gave
only you - there is only clarity,
there is only endlessness.

sonnet one hundred thirty six

among the ruins of words
that escaped our thoughts,
of scars that found its way
through the cracks of oblivion,

among the night clouds
drifting silently, writhing in
the vines of agony our tears
drip through ancient hues

among the unquenchable rays
of the sun, my hands seek
the forbidden, an angle and a truth

among ripples of the stricken
desire, this fire bends and begs
for one more revolution.

sonnet one hundred thirty five

taken out of what made sense,
we are lost in the labyrinth
of our inabilities and excuses,
and argue our way through

and out of a misunderstanding,
thinking that maybe nothing
is as deep as our own
emptiness and dread

here is another call for
you to forgive me i could
not see what you see

or i could not hear what
you mean, here is another call
to start all over again.

sonnet one hundred thirty four

basking in the totality of
your being, regardless if it
is breaking half the time,
my eyes see nothing but

the desire to continue, the
need to be, the oppressing
ache to be beside you,
my eyes see more than

the mistakes you would
punish yourself forever for,
more than the undefined

borders of the pain we have
caused each other, more than the
dreams you thought would not unfold.

sonnet one hundred thirty three

my heart peeks from outside
your window, asking for you
to hold it a time and another,
to keep it and enfold it

in the rough edges of your
thoughts, enclose it in the
imperfect shape of your
soul and find the will to

believe that our love
gives both my heart and
your soul its sanctified,

impeccable form, no matter
the times we stumble,
we will exist with and in each other.

sonnet one hundred thirty two

sometimes we forget our
own magic, sometimes we
forget how afternoons find
its way back into the night,

or how smiles crawl into
the wings of a glorious sunrise,
sometimes we forget the
mere fact we are still standing

is reason enough to call
a moment breathtaking -
and when this happens,

forgive me for my failure,
and hold my hand so we
can find our way back to magic.

sonnet one hundred thirty one

tomorrow, harder work awaits,
knowing i cannot move my
star, but i can let my thoughts
glide across these pages

and offer up the energy
and tenacity of suns and
supernovas, heeding the arch
of the indelible light

that bear your blessed name,
held silently in the pace
of this beating heart,

living for you, finding the
crouched memories still, waiting
for your glance to touch them.

sonnet one hundred thirty

whilst your sleep lead you
to dreams where you are
free, spaces where you do
not doubt yourself,

i always wish you find
your way back to our
reality and discern that
freedom is what we afford

each other, and that
no other hand can relinquish
questions but yours,

that no other whisper or smile,
silence or conundrum, can pull
me away from your light.

sonnet one hundred twenty nine

the fold in the pavement
and the minute cracks in
our arguments cut up a hole
but we always go back

to mending and renewing
the faith that took us this
far, and i ask myself -
just how far has all this been?

and i realize that it is not
enough to succumb to relentless
and destructive shadows

but enough to want and desire
and cry for another beaten path
i will take anytime with you.

sonnet one hundred twenty eight

no history is ever forgotten,
or will ever be dismissed,
which is why i attempt to
remind you of ours

for the days you could not
allow the many fleeting
instances to seep into the
riot of your thoughts

- still i offer you the fire
of what could be both
your lover and a stranger

stealing the shadow of what has
maimed you and left you
broken, here i offer a beginning.

sonnet one hundred twenty seven

my eyes lift the pages
on our story, fumbles to
write on the next and fill
it only with the sanctified

abyss of our distance,
hungered by the mist of
our secret conversations
that lie in our dreams

long after we have spoken,
long after the trembling
caress of your voice has

resonated in my soul,
now you have made unafraid
and undaunted of any loss.

sonnet one hundred twenty six

drawn to the soliloquy of
your silence, the argument of
your stares, the heaven of
your darkness, the prison

of your furtive lips -
caught by the limbs of
your bent and naked light,
reaching for the surface,

aching to recover and
torn between madness and
healing, more than the

arid earth that you walk
upon, i invite you to break
the stones of my calm.

sonnet one hundred twenty five

when do you know once has
become more than a dream,
when one has become
more than a painful hope,

more than a reckless shadow,
more than the dark lid
that shuts the image of
all other faces and requires

that you see only her?
when do you know one has
become more than a scent

or a sound - when the breathing
particles of your humanity finds
its worth in her hands.

sonnet one hundred twenty four

your white laughter flutters
unbridled and abandoned,
carrying the trace of all the
memories your eyes have gathered

from our endless beginnings,
from our ceaseless desire,
from our wild wishes and
our uncorrupted sense of being,

the color drops and occupies
the opaque, resembling peace,
representing faith,

clutching to the fires
soaked in the rain, drenched in
your gaze once more.

sonnet one hundred twenty three

there never would be a
better time to start a poem
more than a simple thought
of you - laughing, gazing,

dancing to the light and
singing to the midnight
and even when you could not
see me you know i would

pick up a word somewhere
- to exalt your name,
ever so radiant, ever so complete

crushed by the harrowing
silence of waters and deserts
between us, still holding on.

sonnet one hundred twenty two

i reason and defy your
doubts and your perspective,
but never thought of them
selfish or disheartening

as i have allowed you
to step on such high ground,
where your shadows fall
behind and upon me,

but my heart can only
understand so much
and we have our mirrors

and differences aching to
arrest the bounds so we may
continue to hold and gaze.

sonnet one hundred twenty one

there has never been a day
that was not offered up
for you, or a night that
did not glisten because of you

there has not been an instance
i searched for words to
read that did not remind me
of you, or listened to a

rhythm that did not resemble
you, there has not been a today
or a tomorrow that was not meant

for you, nor has there been
a scent, a mark, a crossroad
that was not intended for you.

sonnet one hundred twenty

the fire starts to corrupt the
mangled view of you, and i
am at war with my thoughts
for you always have had

a certainty in you - something
never to be crushed or doubted,
never to be considered irreverent
or irrelevant, something so

imperfect yet so beautiful and
magical and full of movement,
this poet never will pause or

cease, she will live and breathe
under your skin, with her iris
screaming, trembling, reaching.

sonnet one hundred nineteen

the rubble seething with passion
for a thousand and one nights
embellished light that glow in
the midst of this lunacy

the air crazed with the scent
of you and me, remembering
the feel of your skin - a notion
never abstract but defined

and exact, the seduction ever
more forward, hunted and incensed
by a dense and dark delight

for the languor my body
is cloaked with, our crimson
days ending with a love devoured.

sonnet one hundred eighteen

a solemn, vivid dream,
a lazarus healed by your
abstract prayer - we still
call it faith and even when

narrow-eyed alleys hymn
the trance out of these
petals, yearnings take flight.
laughters soar and tears subdue

the silence that breathes
heat unto our fire, islands
hanging between heaven and

earth - inches of paper and
pens now take refuge in this
space flooded by loneliness.

sonnet one hundred seventeen

she breathes under the alarm
of what felt like sun-blazen
mornings, lifeless walls and
doors and hinges and bolts

make up for what could
be a sanctuary, the wounded
light crashed against the
mystery of this omen you

call 'alone,' searching paradigms
and dimensions belonging
to one tangent of peace -

that which you hold,
that which you put forth,
that which you devour.

sonnet one hundred sixteen

who would have thought
that something as random
as you and me will begin
to carve its particles on

surfaces, luminous and
permanent, excised by the
mouth that feed on the stranded,
ragged gift of brevity and

delight, a thief that hunts
hallowed alleys, singing to
a lute humming your

impenetrable beauty, i know
i would have thought of it,
believe it or not.

celebrating you

it feels like nothing will ever suffice.

it feels like i can go on like this forever.

that i can go on celebrating you - the woman who constantly amazes me.  the person who has kept me from straying.  the wonderful being who has sustained me for as long as i could remember.

the gift that never stops giving.

that is who you are.  that is who you will always be to me.

i have come to the humbling truth that there can possibly not be anything that would measure to the kind of gift that you are - no matter how much i try, no matter how much i flex my romantic muscles, no matter how much the poet in me attempts to give light to you - my perpetual muse.

i doubt that anything will ever be enough - to actually tell you how much of me you have nurtured.  no matter the number of days or years we have spent with each other, i know that i will always wake up to dawns filled with this huge, gaping void - a void that depicts just how much i need to prove - to make you believe and make you realize the kind of love you are worthy of and are worthy for.

however, i am also maimed by the fact that i can only do too much at once.  so allow me to take each day like a grain of salt.  allow me to excise from my heart of all the energy and desire i could each time - and assure you that when i do, i always will be offering a part of my soul - a part i do not suppose i will ever be able to give to anyone else.

all because you have become the stars in my cloudless skies.  all because you have become the dream i do not want to be taken away from.  all because you make me want to do the best that i can so i may hold our reality and case them in your hands.

so you have celebrated another great year.  a year filled with tears and laughter and love and passion.  a year filled with challenges and heartbreaks and heartmends and the faith that we are simply the kind who will stop at nothing to make things count.  and with each second that passes i am convinced that there are more and more people celebrating your presence in their lives - and i happen to be closest to that instant, to that defining moment - and i know i am blessed just because i can witness how the years have made you more resolute, and how the same years will make of you and i the best versions of ourselves.  

i guess all i wanted for you to understand is that - you have made me the luckiest.  and i love you.

sonnet one hundred fifteen

a waterfall of thoughts
aching to devour glimmering
shades of you, a moving
spectacle that seek to

count itself less than how i see it
or how it should be taken -
slowly, painfully, gracefully
until i drown and lose all

i understand of breathing,
until my body trembles at
the idea of resurrections -

for i only truly have been
alive when i plunged into
the abyss and depths of you.

sonnet one hundred fourteen

the beam of the waxed moon
touches the corner of
this mind that carry only
the scent of you, provoked by

statues that cry still, unmoved
framing the moment when
you first held my hand
stones drenched by a

perpetual stare, from a prism
that marks the sound
of white upon shores we

dare explore and desire and
so delicately let dissolve
in secret, in passing.

sonnet one hundred thirteen

a well that brims with sweetness,
you might wonder why i never
seem to run out of words
to give voice to the silence

of this elusive time that
has momentarily kept us
apart - it is because
my sadness only heightens

my happiness, defeating and
maiming the hurt, shutting
the dusk and letting in the

light from the window,
knowing you and i breathe
and exist under the same horizon.

sonnet one hundred twelve

chasing your seductive, inspiring,
empirical sunsets, exquisite,
tasteful, words dancing and
falling off the clouds

that forgive the strength
of your stares and hail
the tenderness of your
touch - healing, hiding, hushed

all to be enclosed within
my hands, drawn to the
phrases that entwine the

roads we walk upon even
in this distance, forging
streets and avenues and crossroads.

sonnet one hundred eleven

nothing here now save
traces of what used to be a
sacred ground, skeletons of
dreams we both once held

that bruised our eyes until
we see its bleeding reality,
a leap forward to be bound
and caressed and bemused

by how we have remained
together, fragments of
mirrors that washed

endless nights with a light,
a gleaming, incessant
desire for pieces and shards.

sonnet one hundred ten

there has never been a day
when the tethers of your love
wounded my wrists or when
the fire of your gaze

burned my own stares,
there has never been a day
when the rays of your laughter
lay unnoticed and scattered

because these hands ache
to bind them into a song,
into a symphony, into a rhythm

that begged of life and of truth,
a sound that bend the light
of one prism i keep.

sonnet one hundred nine

no matter the times you
walk away from me
i know i will ache for
the sound of your footfall,

no matter the times you
choose to reside in silence,
i am certain i will crave
the fierceness of your arguments,

no matter the times you
doubt what this heart holds,
i will find a way to prove you wrong,

no matter the times you
stop to reconsider how we began
i will continue to stand without end.

sonnet one hundred eight

i no longer stop at fireworks
and no longer take the
time to taste anything -
even water, i no longer

praise the formlessness
of air, i no longer relish
the gift of sunsets, i no longer
feel the heat of moon cloud -

your absence just made
me realize i no longer
have the capacity to

adore the beauty that
lives outside of you,
and i let these thoughts cave in.

sonnet one hundred seven

i found the red orange hands
of the sun sinking
upon the dunes of your
heart, a fleeting, beating

reverie made of claws
and shadows - i drown
in the notion that you have
become my own,

and i bury my face in
the gentleness of even
your harshest words,

come back to me, come back
to us, come back to these arms
that never stopped embracing you.

sonnet one hundred six

and so i thought i have
reached the depths of
depths, but i was wrong,
still i stumble towards

the sacred grounds that
carried the scent of
your blossom, the blue, lagging
moon leaving behind a

trace of a thousand steps
you have taken without me,
still believing that you

lift your limbs with
the memory of us,
never to be hidden.

sonnet one hundred five

unwashed figures and
tainted souls bear
the grief and happiness
of this unfathomable us,

i seek not to resolve
the mystery of you now
as i have a lifetime
to devour everything

that creates and de-creates
all that you are,
hunting the indelible

flesh that you contain,
hungry for more,
with each second that pass.

sonnet one hundred four

i miss caressing your body
and putting my hands
upon you like you are all
the beauty it knows of,

but your laughter slips
into the trap of silence,
sharp, ringing, omnipresent,
shaping the wounds

i suffer by being alone,
hanging to conceal the
vague dissonance and

the armor it bought
with it, a shot of pain in
this body of water, cloaked.

sonnet one hundred three

my skin taunted by its
inexplicable hunger for
you, like the haywire
inside my head, stretched

from one end to another,
waiting for you to walk
and crash and gather
your steps again so you

may see the tangled
web of landscapes
that hold repetitive,

redundant images of
you, my hands burn
under the rivet of loneliness.

sonnet one hundred two

throwing myself on the
abyss of your halted
breath and parted silence,
the paper unquenched by

this ink, this attempt and
metaphor to carve my
own journey upon the
path you are now taking,

you say it is easy and
my confines are not
the four corners of your

room, but the death of
night is tragic and undefeatable,
with its leaves resurrected.

sonnet one hundred one

light from the night lamp
spill upon concrete and
shatter on the pavement,
carrying your steps and

the haunting sound of
your footfall - it has
been a hundred days
since i followed your

shadow be eaten by
a sea of faceless dreamers,
since i cried my heart

out and did not understand
an ounce of the pain
scribbled on my eyes.

sonnet one hundred

the physical unfurls to be
the metaphysical, your gaze
shades the bland, white paper
that cradle these dreams,

your laughter spread across
ardent layers of the
things i hold within -
my fear, my sanctity

under what seemed to be
an endless night
imbued by nothing

that exist in the minds
of others, a dreary contrast
embossing only the rain.

sonnet ninety nine

i wring my heart of the last
few teardrops it
could beg from my body,
my blood revealing what more

it could do and reclaiming
all that you have offered,
the sum of days ahead
eaten by permutations of

your desire, fumbling in
the equation which never
will be lost in the sound

of the pulled, arresting
moon and the pierced
latitudes holding you.

sonnet ninety eight

we see a fumbling, flaming
sky, never empty of desire -
sanguine, thriving, escalating,
chasing shadows and losing

all we have to moments
we are grateful we could
find, searching, seeking
the carving and scorching

hands that make me
fall into the sublime suns
of our dreams and escapes,

veins throb, this lunacy
becoming apparent, collapsing
in the wind of perfumed porcelain.

sonnet ninety seven

the height of the forgotten,
the measure of what has been
lost, the economy of silence
and the darkness of cacophony,

the ache that bleed and coil
in thoughtlessness, hanging
on to the mercy of your
being's beginning and end,

the promise of clutching
to the tethers of your love,
fiber by fiber, era by era,

to find you at last searching
for one like me, only me,
only you and us and we.

sonnet ninety six

and in silence i find all
the more cause to linger,
because it gives me you,
because it unravels us

on its own, because our love
is stronger than our
incapacity for words, because
such lack never did maim

what we could still say -
because i love you and
because i need you,

because your smile and
your scent fill my head
like it did the first time.

sonnet ninety five

rummaging through the
curbs and turns of
this alley vaguely remembered
the light at the end

shattered by distant voices
that beg for reckoning,
fumbling, slipping into
the sweetness of laughters

and the hostility of tears
sabotaging what has
been created and all else

we have given existence to -
until we resurrect fragments
of ourselves, we yield, we stop.

sonnet ninety four

my voice strained by
a familiar heed, a cry
for your forgiveness and
begging for your mercy

thrown into a box where
the only role i play is
that who waits,until
you subdue your anger,

until you have allowed
your heart of hearts
the faith that took us

this far,the love that
cannot be shaken even
when our eyes fill with madness.

sonnet ninety three

ushered into a lonely night
where shadows hover and
the pain thrives and
exists longer that it should have,

yet again we question
why we remain and
this seemed to be archaic
and rhetorical

like a mystery that
dissembles our beginning,
where everything to be

hoped for lies tainted
by my lack of foresight,
by my inability to concede.

sonnet ninety two

the hours stretched by
this waiting, these hands
and eyes incapable
of anything else save

desire - an immutable hunger,
an incomprehensible want
to hide behind the jagged
trellis of your smile,

to a moonlight dissipation
of my own thoughts and
reservations, prepared to

lose one more time, and
another, until we fumble
upon truths we want to arrest.

sonnet ninety one

drugs shoot up my veins
like the scorching heat of
the sun, like a secret divulged
after the vague and desperate

attempt to hide it beneath
my own shadow, like a
wilted flower denied of
its own voice, its intentions

muted and enveloped by
solitary reveries, by walls
made into daunting pantheons

salvaged by the goddess
that is you - at last
humbled by the risk to live.

sonnet ninety

stars marvel at your
shackled, bleeding limbs,
carrying the infinite
motion of blood and water

the raw, naked, pure
and haunting realities
that make you who you
are, under the imagined

silence of one such a
night - in the midst of
recurring dreams and

faceless strangers we meet,
traveling to oblivion, seeking
a destination, a common ground.

sonnet eighty nine

fearful that the world
will soon discover what
i have been trying
to keep to myself -

the certainty of your gaze
and the mystery of your
thoughts, the lines of your
darkness and all

that which we trace
to exalt your imperfection,
afraid it might come

to a point i would be
reduced to a being that
kneels before your altar.

sonnet eighty eight

leaning to the axis of your
incandescent smile, my eyes
gauge the distance of
unspoken words that

reside within your poetry,
of hurdles you overcome
to stare right into my
eyes - a burning, dispersing,

emerging clarity that
sought to quiet, once, of
the abstract, of the undefined,

of the unmarked points
that held your effervescence,
and your lightness.

sonnet eighty seven

undoing the last remaining
thoughts i have hidden,
unthinking the few remaining
actions to deviate from you

because they all have
gone senseless and futile
and desperate if you
will - when i knew that

there is absolutely nothing
i can do to stop the fall -
when something like this

exists - so powerful and
certain, exploring all tangents
and corners and angles.

sonnet eighty six

no restrain, just resolve,
no disdain, just delirium,
as my eyes ponder and
seek the angles of your

shy and unassuming nature,
like glasses that trap and
reflect light, your soul
luminous and infallible,

i muse over steps i needed
to take and unhinge the
last few parts of you

to make you fall,
i come to you like clouds
racing toward the sun.

searching for reasons

and while i was going through this book i was reading, my lifetime asked me:

why do you love me?

i know there's a reason, i know that i have an answer.

but for a brief moment, i was dumbstruck. i was tongue-tied. i didn't know where to begin.

i simply motioned to her, kissed the screen (as we were on skype), and told her: i do not know why, i just know that i do.

i mean i thought i knew everything, but a specific answer escaped me - for a question as deep as the one that she has asked.

again, i do not know why. i only know that i do love you. and it is something that i hope i am able to show you truthfully, audaciously, selflessly. i do not know if i could ever gather all the reasons why i would like to wake up to you and with you, why your voice was the one thing i would like to hear before i head to slumber, why your touch would calm me instantly - i only know that you are the reason.

i love you because it is you - just like what i said - i love you for the truly extraordinary person you are - the way you love your family, the way you love my family, the fact that you never give up on me even when you have to repeat yourself. i love you for all these beautiful things, and even those little idiosyncrasies of yours that drive me nuts. i just know that living has been quite an adventure, especially the last couple of years. i just know that i do not want to imagine a world without you.

i am unsure how to simplify an answer to such a grand question - but i guess as long as we stick together i can show you everyday why i love you, and why i deserve you. and this just goes to show that it is because of you this journey has meant so much and will always mean so much - not just you and i being apart but our relationship - it is a journey, it is evolving, it is made of discoveries - minute or otherwise.

don't worry, even when i fumble when you asked me that question - you can go ahead and ask me that everyday, and i am sure that it will evoke but one feeling in my soul: you are the reason i am certain, and you are the certainty in my reason.

sonnet eighty five

i find you in the middle of
the night tiptoeing through
my own darkness, and loving
the webbed thoughts you

find in there, gathering the
nightmares that tainted
my sleep and putting them
underneath what you called

beautiful, telling me again
and again - in a whisper
or a scream, that you

deem my flaws that which
make me perfect, all that
which make me yours.

sonnet eighty four

we trace a place, a space
and it leads us back to
the onset, when my silence
meant yes and your sudden

curiosity spoke volumes -
of stories at length, or meanings
i should have seen past
curtains and layers,

we waited for gravity to
find its way through
thoughts we have kept

and smiles that furrowed
through our minds like
ellipsis, an unending punctuation.

sonnet eighty three

seeking letters and lines,
rhyme and meter in this
secret language when all
i wanted was a translation

of your stares, your mannerisms,
your touch, your possession,
we fumble and let these
thoughts fall apart,

only to be resurrected by
your naked and pure
laughter, or something

i have never heard of
before - prior, without,
needless, spiraling toward desire.

sonnet eighty two

no room for errors, they said
but i know we will always
make an exemption,
attracted to destinies more

than destinations, we are
marred and mangled by
a thousand words we thought
to ourselves sacred and

infallible by actions committed
through your gaze or the pristine
way you mouth your words,

when our souls fall silent
as we carve infinite moments
with finite hands.

sonnet eighty one

armored by notes meant
only for your silence,
i offer the decadence of
my thoughts in your loneliness,

these tragic hands resurrecting
themselves in this poet's heart,
surviving through ink and pain,
carrying the flesh and scars

of your resonating hallow,
the bangs go louder as the
minutes hasten to tomorrows

stumbling upon a desire
that unfurls and decreates
itself in your sight.

sonnet eighty

do you attempt to put
out the fire that exists
only in your imagination
or do you fan it until

it bursts and consumes you,
or do you wait until
all the light you know
emanates from one distant

flame, carving heat and
incandescence in your eyes
until you remember nothing

save the dance of ember,
the prancing, scorching
fragment of you widowed by air.

sonnet seventy nine

dismantling, disengaging
little by little, piece by piece,
the guarded symphony
of your secrets and certain

eyes, uncovering what
you have long hidden
to stare at the naked truth
and know there is nothing

i would not touch or
seek to understand, then
the hours unfold into

timid nights, clinging
helplessly to the threads
that wrap you delicately.

sonnet seventy eight

moments trembling at
the sight of flames,
gauging the gravity
of an epiphany -

a notion, a thought,
a mark, a stigma,
an unending, unfleeting,
dawning of things we

we wish to embrace, of truths
we wish to cage, of virtues
we wish to defy

holding ourselves up against
an upheaval, a separation,
a frantic conundrum.

sonnet seventy seven

inexhaustible, inexorable
tireless, relentless
juxtapositions, without the
curiosity to conclude

before we arrive to this
black-marked day
hunted until it becomes
red like a curse, bright

like being blinded, until
this hand shakes as my
thought struggles to put

your infiniteness within
five minutes of these words
you breathe life to.

sonnet seventy six

break me open, like the
daylight would rupture the
silence of clouds, dance
with me in this trance

of transitory beings and
transient whereabouts,
of wars made holy by
our own heedless desire

to hymn pieces of you
and i together - to be
what it is, what it should

- a calligraphy destined
to unveil our intimacy,
our synapses, our moments.

sonnet seventy five

we forge, without disdain,
point to point, tracing
coordinates, horizons, space,
timelessness, soundlessness,

we tread, without remorse,
on burning coals and fragrant
flower beds, on crossroads
and beaten paths

over and over if we must,
to find what gives meaning
and to mean what we find,

to harbor what has been lost
and lose everything to change,
to be alike or different, to be each other's.

sonnet seventy four

here is what we will never be:
a meantime, in passing,
a figment, temporary,
a battle, never to be won,

a dream, tainted and unrealized,
dawns consumed by the impatience
of the sun, or ink that dries
on parchment dissolved in memory -

never will we allow
regrets to spill without
trying or without resurrecting,

never will we create and
sabotage, or breathe and
shackle, we will only remain.

sonnet seventy three

whether it be the
feel of fire or the touch
of rain, whether it be
the taste of poison or

the sound of nothingness,
i am wrapped in this
delirium of aching only
for you when the day passes

and i would not let
this heart come closer to isles
of loneliness found in this

space, until i stumble
upon the exact same
stares that allowed me to keep you.

sonnet seventy two

my mind wanders into
dark alleys that contain
your vacant gazes and
fleeting laughter, mesmerized

still, no matter the times
you have let out such
a pleasure, a seamless
resonance of all things

beautiful in this life,
and no matter the times
i write over thoughts

i have desperately
attempted to erase,
you remain constant.

sonnet seventy one

dust gathers the final few
answers it needed,
to evoke, feel, endure
a thousand more dawns

that so fervently shaped
the greater things to come,
an unraveling, unshelling
of secrets and thoughts

we have so shamelessly
denied - embracing what
is left, owning what we could

of the broken sky and
wounded air that carry
the trace of our happiness.

sonnet seventy

i glide and trip then i gather
the weight of wounds
and drown them in water
leaving only the indelible,

infallible full brightness
of your smile, dispersing shadows
and conundrums, now i lay
haunted by the slightest

trace – a sigh, a breath, a
glimpse – all the things you
thought would go unnoticed

but these hands are aflame
with desire and leans toward
the spinning, spiraling night.

sonnet sixty nine

the vines tangle and our embrace
weave an intense current
of conversations that live
to breathe punctuations and

synaptic movements excised
by this hunger, unfleeting,
humming, aching for more
gathering a storm that

is our love and being
subdued by its own innate
peace, holding on to

cracks and fissures
that give me your color,
flaws that present your light.

sonnet sixty eight

shaking like your bones would
in the absence of faith,
suddenly stripped of its marrow
and the strength of a

lingering, unabated fate
splitting seconds, atoms,
memories, untraced glances,
crushed now, her muscles

sore, falling of the
trellis as if it got tired of
clinging, escaping the

narrow cages that bear
your voice and dreams
drying to be resurrected.

sonnet sixty seven

let me slip into
the night, into your
dreams, between your sheets,
within your embrace –

the silence that hold
my laughter and the
sound my heart makes
when it beats for you

the taunted, timid ember
glowing like an
impervious sunset,

clashing with the peaceful
sky, the colors unable to
contain its fire.

sonnet sixty six

surely there is a language
beyond rapture, beyond havoc,
beyond merciless nights
and impatient hours

that we could utter
to possess what we always
have – the carved and
jagged thoughts

that held all i know
of you, all i knew of
faith, drowning

mirages and other
illusions giving you
only my emptied self.

sonnet sixty five

untangling, unraveling,
undoing sharp and
unflinching means we
find to burden each other

after realizing in the end
that we just want to love,
so let me cast the net
and capture the sadness

i caused, throw it back
to the darkness, hurl it
towards the void

and open myself up
to delight in your fire,
to walk with you in desire.

sonnet sixty four

over and over,
i told myself that
it would heal,
well it did,

but now i find
slivers, shards,
fractures, gaps
on my heart and

from that same
dark room where
i kept my secrets

and my sanity
now to be ruptured
without warning.

sonnet sixty three

hours spill into a naked flight
am I alone blindly fighting
for a light that would leave
you just for me,

breaking ideals and my own
tears so i can see you in the
midst of this battle unyielding,
unwavering, unrelenting

hands bound, tongue tied,
thoughts stirred, my
soul haunted by the

trembling piano piece
that play with my heart,
as the sun robs me of my light.

sonnet sixty two

i promise you beloved,
that this journey will never
meet its end or its tragedy,
that our pain will never

be sudden, deliberate or
sustained, that you and i
will last like all things
filled with love should

that we will remain,
that we will be faithful,
that we will live through

and gather each other
and wait until the next
rainfall spins the thread that keep us.

sonnet sixty one

this is what i live for –
misty afternoons with just
you in my thoughts,
like flowers left to blossom

in corners touched by
sunlight, the petals filtering
all the love you can offer,
roots seeking the caress

of water on earth,
never minding the dent
it leaves after passing

after all that is one thing
we will never be, for you
nourish all i am made of.

sonnet sixty

we meet in secret
intertwining, intervening alleys
high and restless,
enveloped in darkness

the moon dancing over
reaching out to touch
the beauty you have
always held within,

wreaked only by the
nagging heartbeat yielding
to you – the sound of

your gaze and certainty
of things you hide from
the rest, things you reveal only to me.

sonnet fifty nine

flailing though surfaces,
dragging the delirium
through different dimensions,
shades and angles meant only

for you – my lifetime,
the burden i will bear and
warmth i will seek,
the undeniable and infallible

promise never to be broken,
of tendencies and shadows,
of clarity and wonder,

of days and nights ahead
filled with desire more than
languor, of hours with you.

sonnet fifty eight

in an ungodly hour i invite
your reason and hesitation
to a lofty idea – of placing
your faith upon these hands

that never embraced another
until you showed her that
flaws never would consume
her light, life and love,

until you allowed her to
change each day through
your dreams and what

fate, in gentle refuge
sees in you both –
a love worthy of everything.

sonnet fifty seven

quietly drawn to your
penchant mornings, to your
silence, to the sound of
your dreams and the ache of

your breathing, to the
things you dislike about
yourself - secretly i desire
all mornings be spent with you,

that i be blessed by your
hungered delight and the
truth of your existence,

that you let me stand next
to you to catch the fireflies
that keep you dancing in the dark.

sonnet fifty six

we flutter on water like
windswept sails, wrapped
in a breeze, headed to one
particular place

where the sky and the
ocean meets, like blue and
purple flowers that defined
an afternoon of smiles,

i hold your hand and
never cease to dream the
truth with you - that our

love would not even come
close to a sunrise or a
sunset - it is its own beauty.

sonnet fifty five

i will spend the night
immersed in your naked
dream, with bated breath
awaiting auroras -

to see the light dance
like it never did, to believe
some things exist even when
we cannot see them,

to hold you and be
embraced by your faith
unceasing, trembling

in your fragrant psalms
to bring us back to the
first time we were reborn.

sonnet fifty four

a glint of life aspire
the wandering, sustaining
faith in your hands,
a spark of light taint

the silent night where
we cast our dreams
over and over
without dread or death

a flicker of fire
crowding the distant,
emerging sunset

taking all these to the
end i have anchored
myself to, an end with you.

sonnet fifty three

thoughts escape my head
and spills onto parchment,
taking all of you as you are,
gathering rhythm and sonnets

to offer up to you, much more
every day, than ever before,
seeking an endless fall
and surrender to drink time

in the hands of now,
trust that i will never run
our of reasons to love and

desire you - my logic and
my muse, arresting the breathing,
living atoms of this eternity.

sonnet fifty two

waking up to an insufferable
morning, overcome by an untainted
horizon - the one i always
shared with you, now painfully

screams and laments as
i find myself alone desiring
i see the same constant,
carving, clandestine dawn

to steal or maybe borrow
a fragment of time and
a fracture of your gaze

your laughter seeping into
the stones and the great
divide, i am waiting.

sonnet fifty one

i trace your smile on
this paper like it is sepia,
a vague, arresting memory
that cannot be denied

and i let go of defying
the beginning we have found,
the end we will never suffer,
as i only know how it is to

exist now, in this moment,
in this time scorched and
molded by the heat of

your eyes staring into
the midnight's caress,
never to leave your side.

sonnet fifty

then we both abandon
our ways, to cross the path
on this road, which i hope
was never forsaken,

i hunt for your sign in
a midnight lulled to bones
that found its solace
in unrhyming and unraveling

fumbling through invented
words and fragmented thoughts
your name inked on my skin

like it is natural,
like it is to be expected,
like it has always been and it should be.

sonnet forty nine

as savage and wild as
one's absence, the wilting
flower bears a semblance
of peace, and we strive

to make it apparent despite
chaos, despite the havoc
of all this between us -
as you painstakingly

pointed out - we are
two opposing poles, molecules
that attract and negate

each other, charting long
lost destinations upon
each other's hands.

sonnet forty eight

spare me dreams that possess
minutes, i do not want to
be left the way i want to be
because i only wanted you

and to live out a dream
out of a weaver's hands,
drawing circles, tracing panic
like it is your blood rushing

back to the edge of one
unyielding hunger and happenstance
until this heart surrenders

to your revolution and your faith,
to your sunlight and water,
to your desire and delirium.

sonnet forty seven

and i crave the voice of this
swift, existing, bound to the
language of silence and punctuations,
bound to your healing arms

as i always have, searching
for meaning in seconds we
shared and burned, offering
my naked words and bare thoughts

helplessly, hopelessly devoured
by your infinite light,
tying unscripted moments

to things we thought we
could never embrace but i
am here, inviting you to believe.

sonnet forty six

heaping the ache and throwing
it against the dancing, spawning,
spiraling light, a vivid and
fecund memory of how your

touch felt like i can be
conquered again and again,
timid frames of your
smile move my thoughts

like punctuations on silence,
like stones on the seabed,
like dreams in the dusk

laced with one faded and
endless attempt to exalt
what we make of us.

a year ago

while i was trying to remove the clutter from my study table, i found a copy of a letter i gave you last january 23rd 2011. these were the words that i offered you.

and i have no doubt i will offer them to you year after year.


mahal,

my thoughts stray to you this very moment. and there is nothing that embraces my heart in this wild and pensive afternoon save your fire ~ everything that i can recall of you. the fire in your spirit, the gentleness of your gaze, the compassion in your touch, the bravery of your words. i am missing you terribly, my love. i couldn't bear having to sleep in my bed alone. i have a confession to make. i don't believe i still know what it is like to spend my days alone.

i have grown familiar with your laughter and sigh, your stories which you utter just before we head to slumber. and now i am seeking the sound of your voice. and let me tell you this, my love. there is nothing quite like it. there is no one quite like you. there couldn't be. and how fortunate am i for having stumbled upon you, or, for waiting long enough so you may find me. you have sustained me the past few months, and i know i will be counting my blessings every day, for the rest of my life.

so thank you. none of which i have ever mentioned, done or written would suffice to show you and let you know just how much you mean to me, how much of my life you have changed for the better. even when i am tired after a long day of work, i wouldn't want to do anything right now but think of you. you crowd my thoughts and keep my heart beating. and even when the daily insanity of my life suffocates me and pushes me to the edge, looking at you and hearing you is enough to lift my spirit.

i do not know how you do it, but i now believe that some things, or in this case, some beings are made of only two things ~ love and magic. that is you. there hasn't been anything you have created or uttered that weren't made of those. your love resembles the peace after a storm, the flowers that blossom after a hard and unforgiving winter, the dawn that follows dusk. thank you for making me realize that there is much more goodness in life than what i thought it held for me.

you were that gift, that wonder, that surprise that was waiting for me in the end. and who would have thought that the end would give me a new beginning? thanking you would be one of those that i could do, but more than these words i engrave on paper, i want you to know, understand and believe that i will love you, in the face of harshness, impatience or lack of understanding. i would never let the world win. for you have become greater than this world.

you have become its reason and its origin. you have become the axis that permits it to go around. just when you felt that you were as unnoticeable as a grain of sand, you have become the universe to another person. i will not stop. i will remain. i love you as ever.

teresa.

sonnet forty five

what resonates after all has
succumbed to a few hundred
days of yearning is my
yearning still, an unending

fire and an unquenchable
desire, a fiery, incomparable,
intense, outward energy
spoken for one named you

in this undefined elation
gathered by the tenderness
of midnights enveloped

in your arms, without doubts,
without fears, just certainty,
delight and dawn.

sonnet forty four

contemplated, surreal, excised
faith from the vine of your love
i offer you, yet again –
one brief, perpetual reality:

that if you hold my hand
you will never lose an ounce of
what you have given, you will
be embraced for all you are

before and since, that my heart
in its emerging brightness
will not thrive on hushed impatience

but will surrender everything it
knows about giving and keeping
and will harbor you a lifetime of light.

sonnet forty three

and my eyes see nothing
save your blessed imperfection,
your magic and energy,
the things you fail to recognize

about yourself, the roads you
have taken to be who you are,
the same roads that led you
to me, the fears that broke

you and maimed your faith –
let me gather each and every
one of them and tell you

they does not matter,
that my love will embrace
them because they complete me.

sonnet forty two

and as we come to this crossroad,
this threshold, this defining instant,
do we cry, crumble, dissipate?
take my hand and let me show you

that my faith is your fortress,
your love my repose,
your heartbeat the breath
that keeps me alive,

your resolve as infinite as
the sunset, hold on to me
though i am fallible,

let us seek the onset and end
of roads together, and find the
clarity we have always known - us.

sonnet forty one

here's what i want to do with you:
hunt the web of shadows and cast
them away, never to obscure your
light again, gather the sea foam

and imaginary flowers so i may
offer them at your feet,
tuck the clouds behind our sunsets
to trace our dreams until

they are realized, to be as
forgiving as the heart you have
allowed me to see, to sanctify

the endless avenues that
led you to me, to love no one
else but you - my lifetime.