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.