Land of the Morning Calm

I do not know
Where my love began,
How it was conjured
From dirty concrete,
And crumbling rooftiles,
I have no answer
It is simply my heart's desire,
But one cannot fall desperately
For narrow streets
And idle engines,
Yet here I find joy filling me
Like too much of a good meal
In summer's ruthless heat,
Almost sickeningly
I cannot stop loving you,
Your mountains and streams
The shape of your trees,
Sound of your buses and trains
Heaving and sighing,
And the words slipping
From so many lips
A language of
Wars and division,
Struggle and occupation,
Pushing and shoving modernization,
Oh, what can I do,
Even my lover's pretty mouth
Was born of this land,
His dark eyes and subtle smiles,
Echo some anthem
Incomprehensible,
Penned by the very wind itself,
And was first sung
By your sky.

{Cannon Fire}

But when I whispered
to you at midnight,
when I watched
your precious existence fade and
all of those little things come
crashing in, the darkness
of a long winter night became
sparkling white by my
childish fascination with your
vulnerability, why
I ask---why
is this happening?
The stars I thought would align
aren't showing, and now
I'll be alone this time around,
but I guess I found my
independence
from my obsession,
and I re-emphasize:
overwhelmed by your attention
lost in the reality of your
admiration, who am I if I
have never been in love and
now am completely
taken aback
by your crashing into my
heart with your eyes
like destructive cannon fire---
what will I do?

7.25

Green and Blue

your voice will freeze me
and the sight of you in that hallway
green and blue and filled
with summer in my memory,
might be paralyzing,
and I have no illness this time
I'm simply sleep deprived,
dreaming and yet
terrified that the sound
of your soul's clanging,
singing, screaming, sorrowful
symphony
is the song I've been craving
on loop in the back of my mind
for such a long time,
oh, and only then I'll know
how much
I have missed you.

7. 25

Soul's Dwelling

Your skin is just a dirty shell,
where all the rain and
tired sighs have made their landing,
drawn their lines in your arms
and built their homes,
founded empires
of bruises and scars and little
dark splotches of
melanin deposits,

but your bones, your bones
which those spiraling cities have
tried to uncover, in abrabrasive
mining and scratching,
pulling and churning your
stomach in nervous fear
and elation, your bones
are the frontier of discovery,
the deepest darkest pit
of your soul's
dwelling.