Fork

“Good morning.”
No amount of greeting
Equals your face in mine
Enough to eat for the dawn

Sheets unrolled
Creases and crinkles
On our faces
Imprinted by the sheets

I wake up to no one this morning
Strangeness;
Hear heavy breathing hopefully
Then get lost in missing
You, I guess I have to wait
Until
I get through
Hell.

I stay awake at night, and lie; daydreaming.

These moments I spend awake
The translucent cup tinted white
sits on my table
a refreshing welcome to the start of a
Cruel, cruel night
of mind contortion
The brain-gymnast’s nightmare
A stark reflection of a path
leading ahead of me

I st-stutter when I think
about what it seems to be like
but I hold on;

if only for the sake of someone.
It’s worth it to see
how beautiful distractions are
infinitely pleasurable in my mouth
as I taste its core, on the bitter palate
on my willingly molested tongue.

For a while

No spoken word
Making up for silence
So comforting
Nothing makes up for
It’s sweet sweet attention
Seeking pleasure

Deafening sometimes
But none in focus except
You who tell me to find
The right spot
That makes you squeal
And that which makes me feel
Tempted
But “not beyond what I can bear”
Reasons inexplicable
But motives we’re
Duly aware of

I miss your sweet serenading
Like when before we met
Virgin pleasures
Of someone holding
A certain tune for me

I used to lament my existence
But not anymore.

Coffee house realisation

Do I inspire you?

I don’t know what is it you do, but you never fail to do so to me.

Prolonged

And she finally comes back.

The heart seemed to jump in constant joy.