Black and Mild
Creamy, sweet,
thick curling smoke that drifted
from between my parted lips
and left aftertastes of charred vanilla
nestling coyly on my pointed tongue
Could I go back,
that's how
I would have recounted
my affair with the cigar
for the look you gave
when I could not describe the flavor
burns a hole in me
even on this cold and distant day
Haibun Yang
Forgiving, cleansing, no. Instead, regretful musing toward an immovable frame, cloudy skies lingering beneath our feet, feasting upon mournful rays, the intention to illuminate, to unbury oozing, weeping, rotting, to pull despair from its hallowed ground- forcing currency from weakened, bankrupt, infantile souls, your thorn-prick unpaid.
Forget, forgot. Pause.
Resurrection drains you, too.
Let the dead grow weeds.
Projection
I honestly would prefer you'd leave them in the ground. Or give them to me in a pot or something.
Yeah, I know you're trying to be nice. It is nice. But I don't think you get it.
This is how it always goes with you. These grand gestures. Things you think I want. Things you think I should want. But I don't. You never asked. You just assumed.
Lots of women like these things, sure.
But I'm not lots of women.
I'm me.
I'm not trying to be ungrateful. I know it's expensive. But expensive treats and material things were never what I wanted from you. I tried to tell you that. You gave me more of what I didn't need and none of what I did.
Just stop. Please don't send me flowers.
I'm not the girl for you.
Current
Drown me
wash my sins
in the waves formed
from neglect, the
drip, drip, dripping
from smiles gone askew
I thirst
for icy water
that closes my throat
but demands each hair
stand on its end,
ready to be touched
I thrash
along the waves
catching glimpses
of sandy beaches
trying to remember
what it's like to be ashore
R.O.O.M. (Remnant of Other Moments)
I saw it the morning you left
Something about the way the light hit your face
The way your disheveled hair laid on your head
The strands were angelic in the early light
There was something in your voice
Or maybe it was the veiled sentiments
falling from your lips
I knew
I had to let you go
I knew
I had to take you in my heart
feel you with my soul
Sometimes, goodbye
only lasts a little while
I dreamed of holding you again
Laying my sleeping hand on your chest
Breathe in your pheromones and cologne
I knew
where I should have found sorrow
there was peace
Kamala
I spent so much time terrified by a book. A little blue book, filled with practical and profound knowledge. I was terrified of its pages, of what the words might suggest. I feared its characters, of what I might see.
I avoided it—at first.
I was scared. I saw notions sparking within your eyes
But I read it.
And with heavy heart and heavy head, I accepted the notion within your eye. Because now, they burn in mine.