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.