bus #45

we catch each other’s eyes
and smile
for the seventeenth time
and I notice
the words stuck in your teeth
they seem to complement
the space around us
as the distance
keeps getting shorter
the days pass

and I find myself
closer to a place
where the smiles
seem to meet
and our bodies
don’t need words to speak.

another abrupt stop
and you spill the words
on the floor
I bend over
to help you pick
and I can’t help
but catch
from the corner of my eye
your phone sticking out
of your pocket –
alive and full of familiarity

you put your earphones in
and disappear.

In the light of a beautiful sunset

in the light of a beautiful sunset
I feel unsettled
the nerves in my feet
are ready to tap the wooden floor beneath me
I am the fog
taking over the light

the disappearing colors
the heavy eyes
and the twirled toes
cursing the lack of heat
it’s all my fault

I slowly wait
as the dusk turns
into a lit landscape of rectangular blinds
and slow pace of moving circles

I wait for you
and so do the circles
for you to come back around
and spend another night
looking at the mist
while your unsettled nerves dance
in the light of a beautiful sunset.

dead leaves and colorful hearts.

The colder shadows hide fast
steel fence shell shocked with a sudden grief
footsteps creep as they walk past
the court that’s a victim of, a summer brief.

Shaking, I seek out the ebbing cries
from the mouths that look like arched rocks
weary, to sleep, even to their surprise
their beating hearts no more than a red, frozen block.

The funeral of the season is upon us
dead leaves open their arms to greet
the lovers, wrap them around the colors and hide
the yesterday’s summer from my plain sight

just a constant change, never a goodbye.

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.

yes, you can call it anything you want.

i am a cause of dusk
waking up as it all
settles, in the dark.

there is no feeling
in the colors of the sky
it is as is.

but it isn’t the same
between the lines we write
my being feels strange.
i dream without seeing
the dreams that i have.

it engulfs me.

bianca and rosso
become the small talk
as we move our glasses
closer, and closer.
i’m filled up to the brim
the sensation in my spine
has gone past
the threshold
for normal, long ago.

we’re sober
and our clothes hit the floor
in the night that remains.

pine street.

At the stoplight waiting for the light
hand upon hand
san francisco nine a.m.
we witness the rushed streets
coming to life
bright yellow garbage trucks
with garbagemen in fluorescent blazers
an elegant mercedes
with an elegant couple
remote controlled skateboards
and hip backpacks.

Across the whole world
in the ocean
of this democracy
I stand with you
and the red light for an instant
holding us all close together
in a gravitational composition.
I look at you
as if anything at all is possible.

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.

night swimming.

the changing light of the city
whispers to me
as it slowly takes over
the floating land of daydreams,
night swimming into its
foggy arms.

it hides the getaways
and concrete hills
giving way to my reflection
and like yours, it only surfaces up
when my daydreams become
just that, and I,
a fraction of what
my reflection wishes it was.

my thoughts sweep the bay
with the changing light.
a collective existence,
a forceful choice,
all drifting anchorless upon the ocean.

seasons.

i bundle myself in the
arms of mist. i have a
faded scarf with
your smell in it.

did you leave the scarf
knowing I’d sniff it
almost endearingly?

that scent
that takes my mind back
to the times
that come back
with a sense of loss.
when I was living
besides the calm waves
and the arms of summer
trapped me in the
scorching lullabies of
your every breath.

somehow the seasons
have lost their way
and forgotten to call out
your name. my raw heart
beats against the fog
and this city cries
for a lost loss.

you will be here. and your
name will keep on
unifying the wait.

Three More Days: a.co/8qmOtnw