I was no king
when I made you queen
and the courts of Christendom
were outraged
when the damsels and jesters
and the learned is flattered
the bishop and knights
went on the defensive
.
I was no king
when I made you queen
and the courts of Christendom
went berserk
when God and spirit
and the sky is flattered
they stopped us
at the drawbridge..
.
.
.
I watched that dew
streaming off the leaf
onto my fingertip
.
I watched that dew
streaming off my fingertip
into the pond
.
it fascinates me
to watch it drip
as its ripple sparkles the water
.
but I can’t hold it..
.
.
.
I find it strange
that you requite missing me
with mingling
that you equate concern
with intrusion of trust
.
I really don’t know
.
I find it strange
because I requite missing me
with solitude
and I equate concern
with unwavering devotion
.
I really don’t know
.
I find it strange
that we are in a deadlock
but solitude strays some minds
the same way that
mingling strays some hearts
.
I really don’t know..
.
.
.
the soft bristles
might be responsible
for the color spread
but the end
result is achieved
by our thoughts
our own feelings
our own composition
and brush control
.
no one else
should be blamed
for the horror
we are in..
.
.
.
I orchestrated
a wily sausage symphony
overturing with baton in hand
flicking and mimicking
the conductor
with stark passion
at times salivating to
smother the heatwave
whilst you lay back
culminating candidly
over the extended version
of my hard copy
feeling the crescendo
towards the finale
shuddering uncontrollably
over my masterly direction
till peace
finally gave you in..
.
.
.
your tongue
lit up my night
and opened up sensations
of glorious sweet
.
I twitched
and moaned and growled
with your continual relish
of my torso
.
with you
I went on a night safari
a wandering ritual
that bound our intimacy
.
changing me
into a nocturnal animal
whilst cradling a wanting
of your cheekiness..
.
.
.
art fraudsters are what
makes art experts and
auction houses relevant..
.
.
.
bronze vessels are prized
because of those little green patina
that forms on its surface
the same way that
our vessel of love is prized
because of those little green patina
we grew to accept..
.
.
.
I thought about you
at the most unlikely moment
at the most unlikely places
in the most precarious of situation
I thought about you
effortlessly
as my heart beats frantically
with those perennial playbacks
subtly sending me reminders
that I am finally home..
.
.
.
I am moved
by your tears
of commitment
.
I am moved
by your gesture
that overcame words
.
I am moved
but I am crumbled
to be in a state that I am
.
lost in reverie
and totally moved
by your emotions..
.
.
.
being happy
is seeing our image
reflected on the surface
of that shiny pink heart
wrapped in gold ribbon
hanging from the ceiling
.
being happy
is seeing our image
celebrated on the surface
of that hanging heart
being exhibited, guarded
and admired by many..
.
.
.
(ode to jeff koon)
.
remember
our pledge
to be what we are today
remember
our longing
to be where we are today
remember
our love
to be why we are today
remember
our desire
to be how we are today
remember
our moments
to be when we are today
remember
our destiny
to be who we are today
.
we need to remember
we must not forget..
.
.
.
fiveloaf 