One thousand

In one thousand eyes
I could search for you
the purple sky
right at that time
when you can’t
take your eyes off
the colours
even photos
cannot capture
the life
of one thousand souls
to reach you
I could take the dark
keep it close
lose myself in its arms
but your thousand songs
comfort me more
I was born one thousand times
and all the while
it was you
I met again
to only meet again
under the thousand stars
that divide
us and connect us
Bold or bittersweet
it has brightened
my universe
into one thousand poems
for you.

Lovers in memory

Some madness
is at our fingertips
the most surprising
inexplicable energy
can only be felt
by lovers
when they first
stare into each other’s

even then it will be foggy
unclear to most
until years later
when the intensity grows
the storms within
the windows rattle.

Time, Place, Memory
explode into darkness
while the sun rises
and the sweetness
of the skin
is what the lovers
and ache
that madness
they took from the shelf
baked it

Love’s phases
lust’s cravings
combined in the pot
stir it up
and take a first bite.

Yet like a film
it is played over
and memory
keeps it rolling.

For you, The Reader

Not sure about the quota
the stats
for the day
but I cannot switch it off.
My Reader says,
I read you breathlessly
eager to ingest
every word
like hard liquor
burning my insides.
(And here I thought
I was nothing special
full of self-doubt
and betrayal).

Do I excite you? In what way?
To hold me close
to smell my skin
to part my legs
and feel me from within?
I know about the phases.
I read Neruda’s sonnets
the morning, the afternoon, the evening
and I feel his currents
sweep me into his waves
that crash against my body.

I’m truly a romantic fool
yet so alive
with wonder
like a little girl
lost in a shopping mall.

When I see the wicked words
I want to bathe naked in them.
Can you imagine such a scene?
Shredded paper in the floating water.
I am sure you would comply
if I ask such strange requests.
You open up my soul
these words
come out like waterfall
with no self-control
no edits.

I stop washing dishes
forget to eat
all to get this cough of words
stuck in my throat
to you,
whether you read me or not
others need it too.

Now I get stopped in the street
my identity no longer hushed
I love your poems
I read them every day
Please keep them coming

so this one is for you, my Reader
the ones that connect
the dotted lines
into their very own

Soul tapping

It is the tap of the soul
that ignites the mind
the body close behind
and when the paper runs out
the words never do
in my sleep they scream
and shout
always on the united screw
of the interlocked worlds
scouring about.

It should not take much
to spread her legs
those words, one touch
you got her entrapped in your webs.

At least she knows trauma
spreads her internal drama
all over the kitchen table
in sexy New York aprons
with no underwear
and tons and tons
of unmarked cars peeking in her lair.

He loves the show
and makes her dance
she shakes her hair
in a stoned trance.

She has to cook
buy protein shakes
read her favourite book
with nipples erect
continues her bakes.

And the soul
keeps on tapping away
waking her up.

my gift

If I had a way of controlling the morning sun, I would rip it from the sky and place it just above your bed.

Upon opening your eyes, your first sight would be the colour of my love.


Perhaps you thought

it did not matter

that you changed

a simple no to ru

but all the little deceits

are grand masterpieces

of woven lies

in a name

that should exist

to prove we breathe


My instincts, my third eye

even if I never knew

it would not bloom

for your walls are

much higher

and magic

is just an illusion

and fantasies

they are just in our mind

and reality

is a misplaced puzzle

with lost pieces

we refuse to search for.

This is how

I shut down



a skin of words

along the inside

of my blood.

I thought

you were

a stone

that I would pick up

and keep in my pocket

or a wave in the ocean

I would let caress me

and the metaphors

never end

yet this poem must

even if it seems obscure

all we have is trust.


It is not how
the sun rises
but the colour
of the sky
at dawn
dusk, twilight
that I marvel at
more than the necklace
in a green box
of the tiniest butterfly
captured in my drawer.


Open up the window

let it out

get down on my scraped

ten year old knees

do nothing but shout

about how

epiphanies come alive

how we bend our minds

to strive

for these words that haunt

memories that jaunt

to remind me of how

it used to be

in my mother’s arms

in my father’s embrace

that comfort I need to face

feel again

in an imagined place

at this time when

you make a question

into life lessons

as if a gate has opened

once locked

a dam blocked

and you

the boat

slipping endlessly by

as I wait afloat.

When you hear my voice

swearing about the knots

it has a complete familiarity in itself

talking to myself, all alone

laying my soul on its shelf.

How modern love has come to this

words and voices we miss

modern sex without a kiss

evolved to pictures

erotica unsolved

mysterious you

hilarious me

exchanging thoughts on a leafless tree

as Fall echoes the emptiness

we lay it out bare and confess

to nothing we did not

know before

yet all we want is more

of this and that

skinny and fat lattes in the Montreal cold

to warm the bones

let the truth unfold.

The windows are shut tight

to not let in the air

it chills my bare body

lets down my messy hair

and somehow you are in the room

no longer locked out

as I sweep with my broom

all the dark sorrow that I want

to live without

you hold on to my run

and ask me

are you ready to chase the sun?

The Bridge interlude

The closer I come

the further you feel.

I could not tell you

because you did not want to know

then I did not want the truth
no matter its profound beauty

it is hard to look at your shadow

for so many months

hard to love you

when you put up concrete fences.

On that full moon

I would tell nobody

die with it

live with it

breathe with it

why ask at all?

I wore my high heeled blue shoes.

Someone may know more than you

and so ready to peek inside my soul

while you sleep awake

and wonder about fate.

I am starting to not trust the internet

and it all started in Soho

the information lied

your hopefulness

my mood swings

my answers

your neighborhood.

Little things tell me what you want

and it may not be

so deep inside of me

as I first thought

it could be as far away as oceans are

safe from my loneliness.

Relying on technology and shoes to get me places closer to you

when in essence
it is further away.

it’s been a while

he says he loves the way
I do irrelevant things
and then he takes it all away
he doesn’t read me anymore
much less see me
and the windows
are finally sparkling
the forest has those paths
and you see what I see
if only in grasps of straws
for that moment
and that’s enough
for a while.

If you think there is no more
heartache inside of you
you are mistaken.

Just when I think
my life is misplaced
I start again.
I can’t speak for you
or him
or her
just for the poet
and not the muse.

I am too simple
and complex
in one sentence
imagine up close

shattered dreams

Just know
it’s never about you
it is how the silence
between us
has become
too comfortable.

Not sure if this is much
of a poem
or thoughts
or the combination
of both
of the artist
putting on makeup
to go to dinner.

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