There’s no answer to your
question of marriage, but will
you honour my proposal of
With every expression of
affection, there’s an affectation
of yearning that’s always satisfied.
Every compliment to you, your
figure, your beauty is another
blade to your skin.
It’s all and always overwhelming,
it’s too intense, You don’t get use
to it over time, this line
is just here to force a rhyme.
It seems I’ll keep on competing
with your void feelings.
Your feelings of nothing and
emptiness, without fear in
every moment I say…
To see who will break first and
laugh off the words.
Better its yourself than someone
else, because you help compete
with these feelings of love.
Whether its yourself or someone else,
its too much and never enough,
like the click of this unloaded
gun in my mouth.
As I one-up some gesture
from a book that you loved.
How warn is my cover, from
the touch of your fingers, I open.
There your bookmark remains,
as you flip through your life,
skipping this chapter,
with its corners creased in vain.
You run your fingers
on the veins of those folds
you forgot why you made.
On your shelf or on your bedside
table, from beside the lamp
on your desk…You watch me
as you sleep.
This is the only edition that
this chapter exists, I see
tabs all around me, different
coulours for different feelings.
You could’t bring Yourself to read
me like the others, because you’ve
never loved the idea that a
story should end.
Closure or none, this role of
being in and on each other’s faces.
Even in the slightest of ways we’ll
call it intimacy, as we race to
rejoin the awaiting dust, collecting
on every part of us.