Not An Illusion

You scrub your hands
until skin falls off
like red snow flakes
but you cannot stop.
You know his eyes will see
the microgerms speckling
your skin like a forbidden tattoo.
You wish you can sprinkle
gold dust in the air
and embrace the illusion.
But you will not turn back
because you love him.

Earth Hour

Earth, this is your hour
and mine
as we lay down
our differences and ponder
on how we had lived our lives.

We lie in darkness, warm
against each other,
knowing how you touched
the world with your selflessness
and how I shamed myself
with my selfishness.

You await people to redeem
your dignity while I stare
at my broken pieces scattered
on the floor, waiting
to be pieced and redeemed.

-------------------------------
April 1, 2009

Hangman - VII

Words crumbled like biscuit
in your mouth, plastering
you with dust that made you sick
of yourself. You are ready
for the rope, wishing
they were yellow ribbons instead.

Hangman - VI

You moved up the platform
barefooted, hands behind your back,
lips cracked, eyes cast down,
fishing for a response.
With each alphabet you moved
closer to the noose.

Hangman - V

You geared up to touch her
with your existence and waited
like a lighted matchstick
for its fire to be extinguished
but your presence was an illusion
gone wrong. You fret about the end.

Hangman - IV

Your thoughts raced on a track
of doubts like a horse tied
to the starting gate when the start
was never in sight. You packed
your words and warmed
the engine for the journey
home to finish the game
you wished to win.

Hangman - III

You scribbled words on paper
like spreading jam on bread
and bit the eraser off
your pencil like biting
into bacon bits. You wished
you had tea leaves in your coffee
so you could see the hope
you'll need to butter up the void.

Hangman - II

You filled each free moment
sipping her like coffee
and capturing her
movements to savour
when you are deprived
of her distractions.

Hangman - I

The doodle on the paper
stood up to stare at you
as you tried to ignore
the kisses of her breath
when she shifted in her chair
at the desk next to yours.

Honey, do you love me? - VII

Crush is playing on the radio
as we feel the rush and small talk
becomes mountain climbing.
We inch a little closer
to the top and rejoice
with each victory, careful
that a misplaced foot
will not send us tumbling
back to our hypnotised state
where the sun is never orange.