Warmth

Tonight I wonder if there
are stars out there
behind a gloomy sky
that stretches toward me
like the distant wail of
a street child seeking
warmth from the night air.

I wait patiently for you,
for your smile to break
through the clouds like
sunbeams streaking
through my skin,
taking away the
chill in my bones.

But for now, I close my eyes,
imagining yours that sparkle
much more than any star,
lighting up at the thought
of me while you cover yourself
with this blanket of words
I am sending you.

In your shade

 

I am a nomad–
running barefoot
on cracked earth,
chased by shadows within shadows
blood seeping across the sky,
harbinger of midnights winds
holding frozen knives at my throat.

You are a tree–
your branches vessels
cupping dreams of me
cradled in your shade,
my final resting place
where I can collapse at your feet,
slowly dying

to be planted by your side.

Rate this Poem @ GotPoetry.com

 

Rax notes:

this was originally entitled Shade of my Heart,
and was inspired by Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series-
specifically the Aiel people and how they consider death
more of a lover or a friend than a feared enemy.

Reach

 

You took my heart
and rubbed it clean
with your sleeve,
erasing its scars by
inhaling my soul and
blowing out the sadness
into the air.

I am sun kissed when you
catch me creeping around
the border of shadows,
tugging me away with
the kind of amusement
a child earns when caught
with hand in cookie jars.

Yet I am still incomplete,
broken in places your warmth
has not been able to mend.
Maybe this time I’ll reach further
for your outstretched hand
so you don’t have to come
down to get me every time.

Really, I’ll try harder,
because I know…
I can love you much better than this.

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Stab[bed]

I came with the violence of last night,
where we wrestled
on a crime-scene bed,
limbs entangling
underneath the sheets
in a tug-of-war with
the half-ripped clothes
we couldn’t wait to take off.

The fingerprint bruises
digging into your back
must’ve been my revenge
for how you pinned me down
and sliced my lips open
with your tongue,
muffling my cries
that begged you to

stab me
again
and again
and again,
charging my body with
multiple counts of ecstasy,
fracturing my voice
into whimpers as you

continue to beat me
into the sated stillness
of a moonless night,
perfect for covering up
your crime by carrying
my limp body and
burying it
in your arms.

 

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Formula for comfort sex

Let us plot the intersection
points of comfort sex.
Let y equal me
Let x equal you
let us lie down
and make an equal sign.
you then climb me
based on the probability
of who lasts longer
when we whittle away the hours
joined at the vertex
of flexible angles,
sometimes rotating,
sometimes bending,
often shifting
from 45 to 90 degrees,
building momentum,
colliding against
every curve
letting the sweat drop
like Newton’s rain
of two apples
bouncing with the
speed of light
until we reach
the apex and
you climb down
and leave right away.
After all we
let ex equal you
and why equal me.

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worship

In worship
I kneel,
bow my head
to your
other one.
I touch
slowly,
kiss
softly
then I
lick, flick, swirl, suck,
all at the same time
until you call out
“god.”

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The Craving

I am craving a sandwich.

I can almost imagine
the tangy waft of
sweet and sour
mixed with the lather
of mayo spread between
sheets of creamy white bread
filled with pickles,
whole and crisp with its
firm texture rubbing
against my lips as it
slides into the folds of
red engorged tomatoes,
crevices awaiting exploration
by a greedy tongue
teasing black olives
into smooth tautness,
sucking into tenderness,
stabbing until it bursts into
the savory fluid thickness of
finely chopped cauliflowers,
dribbling juice on my chin,
eagerly lapping up
every drop, swallowing
every seed, until I devour
every imaginable pore
of the grainy bread.

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Chasing the Equal Sign

We are two parallel lines
that meet while sitting down,
our foreheads touching
like the sides of a triangle.
We trade thoughts through
this illusion of an apex,
and I, in awe, notice
that there is precision
in the subtle ways
you hold my hand.
Your eyes dare me
with mathematical equations
that only have one right answer.
The angles of your mind
rest on black and white premises
that form a concrete
wall of syllogisms that
mock me every time
you speak my name.
You are undaunted and unabashed.
Even so, I smile
at all these numbers
streamlined to fit your life
knowing that this is the only time
I can meet your eyes
without having to calculate.
For when we stand,
our foreheads will no longer touch,
the triangle will shatter and we
revert back to parallel lines
that will never meet.

I am left to face the incongruence of it all.

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Under the Blankets

your fingertips tracing my lips
let you know that i was real. we were

embracing under the blankets. i was
pressing my body close to you and
breathing in your scent of sweat and perfume,
reminding me of the feel of your arms
when we first danced, reminding me of the trip to Ilocos,
rolling on cement floors until daylight had
seeped through the curtains, reminding me of
sleeping in Kuya Dado’s jeep with the windows down
shivering, forsaking clocks and later calendars. as the

morning dawned, i knew the city below pulsed
with madness and malice. i knew
i might lose you to meaningless faces of
strangers and false friends. i knew
there may be nights of sleeping alone
without your warmth, without your lips.
someday there may be a wedding, maybe
a child or two. there may be screaming
fights over money and other women, maybe
over in-laws. maybe you’ll stop whispering
my name in the dark and someday i might
cease to be real to you. i was

drawing the curtains so the light
didn’t wake you. i was lying down
embracing you under the blankets,
ignoring the phone ringing in the living room,
cherishing the languor of hips and
fingertips tracing my lips, i was

real to you.

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Welcome

Welcome to my poetry blog. A collection of my own poems as well as those of other poets I admire. Enjoy.

Sa souvraya niende misain ye

(old tongue for “I am lost in my own mind.”)
–from Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan