lips against lips

you sigh like a soft summer breeze

and i like a sunburnt piece of clay

quietly crack open, fill you

in my crevices, you

complete me and nobody sees it

but me. just me.

lips against lips

yours press down with a thirst

i’ve not yet known how to quench

so i clench your shirt in my fists

and sink in deeper, and deeper

into your fading silhouette.

lips against lips

i feel all your untold stories

slip down my throat and make home

in my lungs, i will sing them

for the world some day, one day

i will make your words immortal.

lips against lips

i now dont know any parts of my body

as my own, they are all ready to

crumble and fall to dust,

i am nothing when not yours

and i am not yours.

i am not yours.




To You, 

My chosen one, mi eterna primavera, my sin. 

I wish I had the patience to turn you into a poem. 

I wish you could just stay still as I tried to remember how you looked under this pale blue sky; how your voice still found its way to me through the chaos of that marketplace, through the shrieks of babies and the cuss words of shopkeepers. I wish we had more time, more memories. I feel bad that I have only so many days to miss, only so many kisses to try to feel against my lips again. Some days, I just wish you could have held us together with your lies a little longer. Now you see, I’m tugging at the edges of my dress nervously. I don’t know how to say ‘Hello’ anymore, I just stick to smiling politely, coldly. But not cold enough for anyone to see the broken heart inside, or the absence of it. 

I know for a fact that you wake up in the middle of the night after a disturbing nightmare, a little before I decide to switch off the light and try to fall asleep. In those few minutes that we share our consciousness, I know you sigh my name and I’m here, on what feels like the other end of the world, taking a deep breath and counting the colours in your eyes on my fingers. I wish you’d never have loved me, and I wish I wasn’t so lost in my imagination that I never knew what reality felt like. I wish you didn’t know how to weave fiction like a fairytale, and I wish I had never let you read me your stories to sleep. 

Loving you wasn’t hard, I still feel like I’m back home when I try to listen to you speak in my head; and loving you didn’t drive me insane, I definitely don’t smile at inanimate objects. 

Loving you was just different and I’ll never know how, and so I wish I could have loved you a little more, just long enough to know the bones under your skin and how they held you without failing; just long enough to learn from them. 

Take care, you. 

You’re spring, you will never wither. I’m autumn, I will never bloom.



There’s a part of me tracing back memories, I 

Feel this heaviness in my chest; the weight of your promises on a frail, little heart. 

I love you backwards, from the 

Last day to the first. 

This way I know your favourite song before I know your name, 

Loving you backwards comes easy. 

I watch you fall asleep and then wake up into the dead of the night. 

We run towards each other, not away. 

I love you backwards because you confuse me otherwise. 

This way, I don’t write strange words on strange hearts after you go; all my misery comes before you do. 

This way, it’s a happy ending to a terrible start.  

I talk to empty rooms for days till you finally appear. 

Loving you backwards reminds me of how much I hate kissing hungrily; and this way our last kiss becomes a stoned blur and our first a heavily engraved memory. 

This way I know the sound of you saying ‘I Love You’ before you say ‘we’re not meant to be’. This way, it doesn’t hurt. 

Loving you backwards makes me want to love you more, makes me want to roll your silences and singular syllables and smoke them away into a misty morning. 

Loving you backwards, is like writing a poem to my past.

You see, loving you backwards is my answer to the void. It is all of my stupid theories about infinity burned to ashes. 

It’s my way of making this goodbye stop hurting. 

Loving you backwards is like drowning. I’ve heard the death is euphoric.

Ugly love


Departure lounges taste like sweat and stale vomit reaching the back of my mouth,
Like a slow reminder of waking up in your arms (too tight) around my waist (too big) to fit into the dress that has been hanging in my cupboard for (too long) to consider it wearable anymore.

I stare at the dirt trapped between your eyelashes and the ingrown hair of your beard south of the pimple that is almost ready to be popped.

“I love you”, you say
It sounds like
“I am going to come home late don’t fucking ask me why.”
“I love you”, you say
It sounds like
“Let go of my hand your palms are too sweaty.”
“I love you”, you say
It sounds like
“Your obsession with pancakes is stupid.”
“I love you”, I say
You say it sounds like silence.

I fit white lines of a powdery substance in your phalanges and inhale sharply.
Reminiscing the day when beaches meant ocean waves and not sand stuck in the bends of our bodies,
Slow love not haphazard clattering of bones against more bones,
And kissing you was like scaling mountains without falling, without rocks cutting at the soles of our bare feet.

I can not find lillies to wear in my hair (that I haven’t washed for over a week) testing your patience hoping I don’t live to see the day you refuse to run your fingers through them.

“Goodbye”, I say.
It sounds like
“Why can’t you for once start the conversation.”
“Goodbye”, I say.
It sounds like
“Enough with shaving in the sink, stop clogging the drains.”
“Goodbye”, I say.
It sounds like
“I’ll call you later when you have the time.”
“Goodbye”, you say.
I say it sounds like silence.

Take a break from clawing at my skin
And I’ll send my insecurites on vacation.
Trying to prove;
That i love you.
That you love me.

Say i cut off a finger, and placed it in a flower bouquet.
On this canvas of your chest, paint rainbows in grey.
Watch you smile, watch you wither,
Let this night turn to day.
Twist your forearm as we kiss (and teeth clash)
Till you slowly slip away.

Duerma bien.


“I etched a face of a stopwatch
On the back of a raindrop”

A room devoid of furniture, except for a cassette player mounted on a wooden stool. I lie here, exhausted after a long, uneventful day. She sits across the room, facing me, having smoked half of her cigarette. She loves this song, she said she always wanted to kiss me to this song. I wait for her to remember her promise, till then, I look at her simmering in her beauty. Aware of the magic she makes, aware of the forts that have turned to ruins without the influence of her presence.

“I heard an unhappy ending
It sort of sounds like you leaving”

She takes in a long drag, fills her lungs up with lethal smoke, exhaling softly these clouds of nonchalance infused with a throaty laugh. A cigarette dangling from the valley between her index and middle finger, her hair pulled away haphazardly from her face with an overused hair-tie, just one rebellious strand touching the nape of her neck, right where I imagine placing my lips, only to inhale the redolence of sweet alyssum from behind her ear.

“You look like you’ve been for breakfast
At the Heartbreak Hotel”

She notices me looking at her intently; like a predator, waiting ever-so-patiently for the right moment to pounce upon its prey, ripping it apart, devouring it bit by bit, first skin, then flesh, then soul. She adjust her T-shirt so that it covers her bare body down to the mid of her thighs, and draws an inhale that lasts a little more than two seconds, must be thinking of something I wish I knew about. Holding conversations with her is a chore because I never know what to say in reply to her colourful stretches of silence; I have grown to accept these wisps of smoke that escape her sanguine lips as answers to all the untitled poems I’ve written to her.

“If you’re gonna try and walk on water
Make sure you wear your comfortable shoes”

I want to displace myself, a little, just to relieve my right arm from the burden of my entire upper body. I decide against it, her presence is staggering enough to encompass the energy of this room in her watered-down eyes. I let her do the moving, the breathing, the laughing. She cherishes the last pull from her cigarette, and slowly sweeps herself up; and as she stands, the most beautiful miracle of anatomy that my exasperated eyes have ever lain on, a poisonous fog outlines her face. She emerges from within it and walks towards me, looking like an angel, moments away from taking me by the hand and stepping into heaven.

“I heard the news that you’re planning
To shoot me out of a cannon”

Her face is inches away from mine, I want to kiss her, but I remain still lest it pulls her out of her self-induced trance. I wait as she counts her breath on my lips, as she inhales and exhales and stops to smile. I want to kiss her, but not yet, not before she is fatigued by this playful ritual of moving her lips against mine, close enough to touch but not caress. I feel her hand on my chest, grazing along my skin to find a heartbeat. She treads upwards, her soft palms just about to touch my throat. She hesitates for a moment, but eventually reaches her destination. She is patient, calm, benign, she doesn’t want to cause me any discomfort. She laughs again- her beautiful, aromatic laughter- simultaneously dipping two of her fingers into the gash on my neck and then fiddling with the knife that lay beside my body. The same fingers that held her cigarette. My blood is still wet on her hands. She finally kisses me, passionate and firm, almost as if asking me to come back to life.

“Your waitress was miserable
And so was your food”

She gets up from above my carcass, wipes her bloody hands against my sleeve and turns up the volume on the cassette player. Singing to herself, she pulls on a plaid skirt and untidily tucks her T-shirt into it as she fiddles around for another cigarette. She finds it. She lights it. She inhales, sighs, exhales. I want to kiss her again, but I know I cannot. I try to remember how her first kiss felt like. It felt like cough syrup on a feverish tongue; and her last, like resurrection after my untimely demise. She steps out of the door, her smile tells me that she will never cross the threshold to enter into my house of grief again. I watch her leave, I think she whispers something. I hope she said she loved me. I love her. The only farewell I needed was this, the one she had so lovingly bestowed upon me. The song stops playing.

“Oh, piledriver.”



​Let me pick up from where i left off

Let me finish, this time, i finish.

I start by resting down your feet 

They have been dangling in mid air for too long

To remember gravity 

Give them some ground and then

I move towards your hip

Nudging it a little towards the left so that

It doesn’t bang against the furniture as you

Dance carelessly in your bedroom

And then i hold you by your waist

As an excuse to feel your skin against mine

And to fit in all of my excuses

In the curve of your spine 

Then letting my arms find their way to your shoulders

I press down a little for they

Must be tired of standing straight

All this while, dear strong woman of mine

Sliding down your arms

With sunsets in your veins

That slip around your forearm

Filling themselves up in your fistfuls of fight

And then i detach myself at your fingertips

My nerve endings gently kissing yours

And i exhale. 

I’ve signed off every letter now,

And our bodies have had their closure.

It’s about time you leave me, honey,

Close the door as you go.

I wouldn’t want to bear with another

Incomplete goodbye.