Whims, morsels of brain food, sunset, breeze, a glass of wine, a being wrapped in esprit.
I wanna see what gates can do.
Build me a door.
It’s 12.56 AM and what can I say about memory,
(pouring coffee into my blue mug)
Blue is such a funny color
It can be eyes, and emotions too.
It’s 12.56 AM and what can I say about impermanence
(stirring bubbles into my coffee)
Coffee is such a funny thing, too
So much can happen over coffee.
So much can drown in it.
It’s 12:56 AM and what can I say about dreams
(inhaling the bittersweet Arabica fragrance)
Fragrance is such a funny thing
It can belong to a person, it can belong to a book
“I want to gift you this Paper Passion perfume”.
I like the stillness of 12.56 Am.
It’s a funny hour, this night
that ushers
outlandish thoughts
which start
and end
in tingles on cold hands.
I like cold hands, too.
Open hands.
It’s 12.56AM, and what can I say about time
(sipping my coffee, I’m satisfied)
Time is such a funny thing
In the watch it goes forward
and I,
I go backward.
Sometimes in circles.
1AM
is still
12.56AM
I think I’ll make myself another cup.
Block
unblock,
we’re going to get past it,
believe me
we’ll be past it all
block unblock text almost call almost cry
come come come, come now
our eyes will meet
and hands
and my fingers will fill spaces in your hands
and the air
will come alive
with the fragrance you bring
and you’ll grin at me
and we’ll know
block, unblock, was just not for us
and you’ll know
life had bigger plans for us
it’ll start to rain like mad
believe me,
the clouds will sing Passenger to us
we’ll hear the music all around us
in the air you’ll make fragrant
and the wet earth
it’ll all come together
we’ll come together.
it’ll all come together.
we’ll cry mad tears
as we laugh
i’ll unblock you
you’ll unblock me
we’ll block nothing
we’ll stretch out our palms
the rain will fall on you and me.
it’ll all come together again.
One of the many things that change at the touch of love, is a person’s sleep. It gives the butterflies in your stomach away, just like the poetry that you begin to see in the world which was till now, dryly droning past you.
“I feel like eating a brownie. Cold.”
“Oh, you feel like eating a brownie?”
(after hours had passed and I had fallen asleep, failing to respond to that question…)
“Reply, cold brownie.”
Reply, cold brownie.
You’ve been called
to be served sizzling hot on a platter
to these couple souls in love.
Then warm their hearts,
with your melting hot chocolate sauce.
What a beautiful coming together—
the hot pours over the cold,
the cold laps up the hot.
Cold brownie,
Sizzling hot on a cold platter.
PS. Apologies to the poetic soul of the late Mr. Neruda. Any resemblance to your Elemental Odes is unintentional. I would obviously not dare. 🙂
Whims and Esprit 