my love thoughts in love poems
I see you’re westward upwards
gloriously angling
elongating skinny necks for the gleaming world.
I could watch you all day, you know.
just the way you make yourself irresistible
as I pay attention
to you.
your perforated cheeks nod in delight
as I write, “you look holy”
(pun intended, by the way)
god, even your name is perfect — monstera —
stimulating big dreams, & all I could do
is keep watching you grow
like a child.
sunday everlasting
no sun turns into marigolds and sleep,
only lords over the day.
under the beddings love creeps, we seek
for a sunday everlasting.
no other days for magic to take flight,
our bodies rousing warm.
we fight the hours to keep the light
for a sunday everlasting
no news nor dog-day cicadas we hear,
only heartbeat poems— they battle.
disappear in songs, all ears
for a sunday everlasting.
there’s no other transcendence
we are the forest, we are wild,
we are sunrise’s resplendence.
we make this day everlasting—
today is sunday everlasting.
Skogafoss in Iceland / 2017
bluer than the moon’s tongue
in a whisper, I sat in front
of the bluest of oceans
bluer than her eyes that woke
waves of calm inside of me,
as her mouth spewed dreams
into my belly—
I dreamt of dreams of dreams
of dreams.
I reckon the time she nestled me
in her tongue, only to be
deserted ashore, forgone.
I remember being swallowed
by the horror of winter, & then
spring came to rescue
all sinners—
I dreamt of dreams of dreams
of dreams.
In a whisper, I sit in front
of the bluest of oceans
where she’s carefully left me
feeling blue, much bluer
than the moon’s tongue
I stayed up until dawn
as the whales looked on—
& I dream of dreams of dreams
of dreams.
to name flowers all at once
first, you step out with your childhood feet (preferably into a sand)
whimsy you
close your eyes for thirty seconds
whimsy the wind picks up your hair
who knew?
a girl from the midwest leapt into earth (mine)
who knew?
from my bed I step down into the Grand Canyon.
second, you put your arms around nature until you cry
then step on a dead leaf
(kindly, please)
whimsy of your thorns
I find comfort
you are incredible. I knew.
lastly, take my hand (it’s generous)
whimsy of falling in love so hard
ibinalik mo ang aking katutubong wika
sa aking bibig.
golden pisces woman
moon bursted into a new moon
the moment you pulled my mouth
to swirl into & across
your abounding bosom
how your vigor blew sky curtains
into space so you can spill light
on sapling gods
how your gathered echoes formed
a reimagined earth
how your sighs were love invitational—
a wandering asteroid
planted in your tongue
what a space to become
what a space to flourish
and oh, what collision it was
of two heavenly bodies.
Howard Creek Ranch Inn / Mendocino, Ca
if so, I’m ready
what if youth leaves my feet?
would I prefer the sand for a mindless saunter?
what if heed abandons my ears,
would they descend with the songs of the ocean?
would I keep my arms laced for comfort?
would I have an unfading simper and find my eyes
shimmer from morning’s adulation?
what if the aroma of coffee forsakes my nose,
would I delight in the smell of dead fish?
the rest of my body ripples
as the planets rise on my right shoulder—
the water and the sky marry
in golden melancholy.
you
on my left,
your seafoam soul arrests,
arms uncrossed,
reaching.
foreign earth
give me water
give me trees
take me to the breasts
of the mountains
you are tendering
blow your wind
gather your clouds
immerse me
in your truest reason
let me in your core
lush with wildflowers
play me whale songs
show me their magnificence sail
with the many moons
your hands compose—
an otherworldly spectacle above
the seas unbounded
let everything fly into grace,
and walk free, free!
I want the sight of you
give birth
to our very own earth.
resilience
they say we go through bleakness
until the first poppy erupts from pregnant soil
our stories pierce like dread and joy
that we would rather not untwine
we can listen this way as we count each of our pores
resembling the chocolate hills in Bohol—
all are exclaiming resilience to grief,
and we wonder,
how many of them will see the colors of daylight
if they remain beneath our skin?
“patience”, whisper the gods.
“they would all be butterflies come spring.”
Light at Noon
Let us not get up.
Let us not give up the spaciousness of this bed.
Mad electric roots holding us down like leafless trees
let us spark!
Our essence encapsulated in a pocket-sized cosmos
as we admire the light at noon
lazily waltz into our room,
and soon we reminisce the bliss.
But let us first open our eyes,
interlace our bodies like perplexed suns, and kiss.
Let us take our time under these covers—
arouse zephyr from the modest movements
of your clever hands.
Let us waken the elements that captivate us,
peruse Neruda over coffee and tea—
the light moves through your lashes so feathery.
Let us stay this way, this way on a Sunday.
Let us not leave until the Universe
thieves the timelessness of our light.