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 eyes souls


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.