Irrelevant Rainbow

let me seperate the furs of your words
and somehow mingle with the froth
left in your cup. let me cultivate
courage in shoe strings we find mangled
on the side of the road. i can tell
youve been walking for hours between
the poles of your ears. and all i want
is to take these shoe strings and
lap them around the creases of your
mind. playing telephone with your
daydreams. i only hope to reach my
parrellel there. see myself before the
glaze of your eyes reflect me. save
myself before my impulse lets me build
sand castles out of your words or maybe
just your presences… or maybe its not
you but its my infinite swarming. this
forgiveness is not breath and im
learning and im learning that honesty
taste techinicolour when heavy on your
tongue. and that rainbows irrelevent now.

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For Z: How I Remember You

If he ever told you
about the sky and
how it’s been lined
in vertical lyrics,

You’d storm. 

You’d pace his iris, circling
and searching for a corner
to find comfort.

You’d shift in your seat.

You’d watch his lips string
vowels and consonants,
too honest and perplexed
for a sunny afternoon.

You’d listen; believing
the rasp can be uncluttered,
thinking his nomadic chest
can be unbuttoned.

But his intelligence
is all just a tease.

He takes every manic pixie
dream girl to her knees.

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We take the time

and breathe.
For a moment, we were braided,
into a forecast weight,
into a dynamic fringe
where lips chap and crack by the whim
of a smile–
of our smile.
We are reminded of the consequences.
The ones that inflate wrinkles.
The ones that elicit a contrasting fear
from the failure we so zealously pursue.
The ones that ignite incandescent epitaphs that read
സ്വപ്നം കണ്ടുകൊണ്ടിരിക്കൂ
Och tro.
Dream. Keep dreaming. And believe.
We take the time to breathe.




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In our mist.

sheets swept the floor.
it never seemed to bother me then.
the dew collected between our skin
but now the air has thinned.
this mist is a chore.
my presence is stale.
the man i new for a blink
has faded fore my need.
i can’t drown in winded limelight.
i can’t soak between a breeze.
drier, becomes dusk,
with every plea.
how to seize
an unfit shadow
or espy an feral shrew?
my confidence spills
in our midst.

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To be a flower

I’m breathless now in the way mist settles.
I’m blinded now in the way ultra violet light laughs.
And my vision is foggy but some things seem more clear
like a petal has just opened back into herself
to find that she was never living,
to find she never saw the sun,
to find that the dew never nestled and
to see that blackness was the only thing
that she had ever relied upon.
And the moment I woke up from this dream
was the moment I rewrote it as a nightmare.
Finally coming to realize
that I am still.
Still and buried underground
where the dampness surrounding my eyes
will never be enough to sprout true bliss.

I need to feel thunderstorms.
I need to feel humidity become me.
Cover me. Shower me into oblivion.
Enter me into a field of hunger— no thirst.
So precipitated, I shake at the knees.
I need to remember what it’s like to beg,
what its like to feed— no drink
from the night until I’m quenched— no
drenched in a passion so deep
that I’m aching to pull the roots beneath me.

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i can’t find comfort
in stretched canvas
the way i use to.
i see how you catch pigments
between a watering colour— i spill.
it’s the only way we know beauty,
yet we’re dying.

“we’re dying,”

i said.
i said.
i said.
and i’ll say it again—

you staple to that door for image-sake
you hang on the walls for clarity.
clarity is felt in a brush of epidermis.
meanwhile, you grace me with a six-inch pole.
our pleasure fights through fear of patched forests.
i can’t find comfort.

accept that i’m brazen,
imaginary hues;
just as lost.
i can’t be stripped
any further or painted
any more perfect
when i am with you.

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the phantoms grasp

when i gaze long enough
into these melting sidewalks
i can see myself as i was before;

before i knew anesthesia,
before i knew platforms,
before i knew the ocean
and where looks could take me.

i was mislead and left adrift
through an undertow of dreams
designed for the innocence in me.
i was ripped by hight and symmetry,
before understanding what a reflection means.

but the future opens her palms
like the clouds parting in the sky
to remind me that this phantom
of the past does not define.

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Mist of Azure

there, you begin.
between a foreign utterance,
you compel. “your blue is just bleu,”
and nothing else.

notice the namesake;
yet she is as metallic
as they come.
as she comes
to you by smoke
with the lush of her slate,
she comes only to feel
you question your origin.

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those confessions

those stories from before…

they synch us
at our ankles
so we lean to left
as though leaving
would tie the knot
out of our stomachs.

then we remind ourselves
of our stories thereafter…
we both despise the thought
of each other, from before,
when we were without one another.

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evaporate the need

if the heat fell
with june
calf to thigh,
you’d pleat into me.
and breeze over. me,
bare enough to remain wet.

you could’ve rinsed the suds from under me..

instead i’d smile, cross,
with crossed knees.
i’d sip on the sun
and evaporate
the need.

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