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.