those three syllables that drank from tropical
waters, grew roots that tapped into the alveoli...

The shadow visits me when the moon
unravels his luminous beauty, swaying...

like a bull-elephant sharpening
tusks on tree-trunk, i take to...

with soft yearning, i shall write of you tonight.
the skies simmering away the stars might have...

the worst part is the after hours, when floating
memories blur into one another kaleidoscopically...

o’ girl who massages coconut oil into hair,
the next time you wear jasmines in your hair...

i must confess,
a part of the heart lives in the ear...

you—an almost ache, almost wound, almost lover,
almost return to self, almost summer, almost a...

where the sternum meets the clavicle,
i want you to rip it apart like a wishbone...

a plucked tongue, uprooted and transplanted in
foreign lands before the seed was sown...

and yet, it manages to swell again;
the sadness is lamenting again...

life agitates in the cracks between the heart
and the soul, blooming in whole, not parts...