strange smiles.


busy life flashes by
blurred people on the sidewalks
dazzling, blinding, in the sun
almost an unfamiliar setting.

brisk walkers, ice creams
in hand. arms across each other’s
necks. hands holding up
phones, focus on what’s
relevant. specks of colors –
alive, loving, and desolate.

the city breathes in its
own painting
as I jump on the next
stroke and catch
some of its leftover paint.

I keep walking
taking joy
in unapproved glances
and strange smiles.

there’s a rose on my table.


I shall not touch you.

you somehow makes
an empty bottle
reminiscence about its glorious nights.

in the mix of lights
you emit your own
while making sure
not all escape in the world
around you.

your leaves breathe
as you stay still
your tilted head
reaching for my eyes.

I shall not touch you.

even when your warm color
invite me to dive deep
in the curiosity of an infant.

and how I love you.

I see more and more
of you, in the
quiet midnight.
you shimmer wildly
on my leftover night

with an empty bottle
of lambrusco, holding you
as the centerpiece of my poem.

i’ll find a way to slip into your skin.


from the moment you put down
the weight
of the couch you helped me carry
I noticed little sweat drops
escaping the subtle tangles
of your hair
running into
the shelter of your arms.

i was modestly jealous
how easily they could get
somewhere i’ve been craving
to go, all this long.

in that moment
i promised the foggy city sky
i’ll find a way
to slip into your skin somehow.

how many people.


I wonder how many people
in this city
live on the streets.
late at night
when silence blossoms like tumor on our lips
when even the crickets hesitate
I walk among the shadows
of their past and present.
every face on the sidewalk
looks back at me.
blank stares.
cautious hands.
tired hearts.
and oblivious souls.

I wonder how many people
will come back home
and write this down.

so the weather, huh?


of course it’s pleasant
but not all year round
us is the weather
we must look forward to
as the seasons are forever bound

to the very nature
of stay, like lovers’ ways
the nights they warm
in the january blues
under the showers dry as a day

together we deem greater than
what seasons ever mean
we’re everything less than
the bittersweet skies, and more than
their love has ever seen.

 

Three More Daysa.co/8qmOtnw

a dream is dead.


so walk slowly
don’t put your heavy
foot forward
stay away from the light
let it mourn over
the death, a dream has
just incurred.

let the light reflect
what it could have been
and create a shadow out of
what it has become.
do not whisper
for you may delay
its existence and
a connection with me
in a new world.

but don’t walk away
just stay, and notice
what happens after you killed
your dream last night
over a cup of coffee
you put on the blinds
and brushed it aside from
your life.
you celebrated your eyes
soon after that
and ignored the cries
coming from the floor
oh, how cruel a man
must be not to feed
and kill the child
of his own.

be careful, you’re stepping
over the line
just stop breathing
and let it die
and go back to
chasing what normality ensues
after a one last sigh.

Three More Daysa.co/8qmOtnw

take both, my dear


I force my eyes to sustain
the little opening they can afford;
wish I would have listened to him.

with the spirits starting to dance
and breathe in the air
I sigh
and stare into the eyes of
the night, when he made the crowd
swoon over the blues
of his fingers.

I pause like photos
as the silence of the dark whispers
empty streets murmur whistling tones
the haze of street lights
and my eyes have found
a resemblance.

it’s all going dim.

a place where we go.


i saw the sun beating down
over the rooftops
and i watched the river flow
i stood at the watchtower
and wondered
where the currents go

and as the river flowed
and the wind blew
it didn’t matter which way
as long as it knew

and people disagreed with others
and words tasted like lies
others drowned in the blues
of those who couldn’t say goodbye

and the fog kissed the ocean
under the bridge
and the currents laid low
and i stood at the watchtower
and wondered
where people go.

end + begin.


let’s talk about love, she said
her eyes waiting for me
how would you describe it
instead of just letting it be

all of this we’ll talk about
it’s just going to be a memory
it did take a long time to find
but something’s dead in me
we had laughed, we had played
we had leaned on and let in
and then the leaves turned cold
time always at the end, begins.

and the light drained back to
the window it flooded from
we sat in a dark silence
all things about love, gone.