Poetry
That Which Cannot be Defined
I no longer chase it
for it is mine
I no longer define it
for it exceeds language
I no longer ponder it
for I have become it
It is no longer a question
for it has answered me
A glimpse at the force
larger than all of the multiverse
That birthed poetry literature and the arts
Perplexed the greatest minds
Millenia upon millennia
Through the rise and fall of empires and bloodlines
that which remains
that puzzles and entices and ruins
Imposters pretending to be
pretending to know
that which cannot be defined
that which is love
I yearn (for you)
I yearn (for you)
to appreciate the smouldering, electric pink edges of undulating clouds
between sunset and nightfall
the same cluster that exists
in every corner of the earth
To attempt but ultimately fail to fathom
the devastating beauty of this realm
For what are clouds
but the former abodes of mermaids and leviathans
reincarnated in its next life
as the first snowfall of 2002
crystals dancing on Crystal’s tongue?
I yearn to be on the perpetual odyssey
of unearthing the whole
and all
of you
the totality of your infinite complexities
To make love
and bare vulnerable
the very essence of each other
For what is love
but the homecoming
at last
of the missing half
Zeus took away from us?
To hold
and caress
to never misplace again
for the rest of eternity
I yearn to have a Sufjan Stevens record playing
while staring through each other’s
To see all of nothing
of everything
in the geometry of your iris
To understand
at last
the meaning of infinite
for its marker exists in our interstellar
universal-through-every-timeline
innate-in-our-dna
yearning for each other
For what good is modernity
if not for instantaneous access to art with the ability to transport?
To remind us of dear moments
shuffled away in time
if only through the shade closest
to International Klein Blue
the salvageable notes
of Romance Oubliee
if only in spirit, through memory?
I yearn to be understood
To be bitten
on unfamiliar places on my body yet recognize
the familiarity of your breath
a scent I’ll know as yours
in every single life time
For what is synchronicity
but a symphony of accidental melodies delivering a most profound harmony?
but starting
ending
finishing
post noting
each other’s every other sentence?
I yearn for the dusk of a love
which never sets
cradled between the sun and the moon
which finds its way back to us
time and time
and
time
again
in a thermopolium in Pompeii
in Atlantis with the sirens
in mid century Connecticut
between the Midlevel Elevators
in British Hong Kong
soon
, god
damnit!
in post apocalyptic Tokyo
in galactic colony 352…
for why do I reach the night so cautiously
if not for the fear of never seeing
you again?
“The number you have reached is not in service”
The night I met my first love
I called whom I thought
was my first love
44 times.
But I couldn’t remember his number
So the calls never went through.
Untitled
“I’m sad you’re leaving.”
“Don’t worry,
It’ll only be for a little bit
Just as 21 years
And 22 years
Were but only
A little bit.”
Things in your new room
A mattress without a frame
Amazon shipping boxes
books stacked on the floor
a Georgetown student card
two closets
the same IKEA lamp shelf as the one in our old room
medical records faced down (which I peaked at)
(which I wasn’t supposed to peak at)
the wallet I got you that one Christmas you said you’d lost
clothes I recognized
clothes I didn’t recognize
my old sweater that always fit you better than it fit me
no soap, no toilet paper, no (clean) towel
the new laptop you bought after I flung your old one off a balcony
The night I slept over you clung on to me like I was still your family. And we rode an Uber to your work and spoke like we were still parts of each other.