Al terminar la noche
no queda mucho más
que este café frío
y tu nombre tibio
dando vueltas en mi boca.

Las palabras ya se acostaron
los relojes bostezan
y la ciudad parpadea
como si también soñara con vos.

No sé si mañana vas a estar
pero esta noche
te pensó cada sombra,
te quiso cada pausa,
te escribió cada verso sin apuro.

Y si el mundo se apaga
o se reinventa de golpe,
a mí que no me falte
el milagro
de haberte amado
al terminar la noche.

Voy a prender un incienso,
y me sentaré a ver cómo arde.

Pienso, a veces, en el antaño.

Espero también se vaya,
junto a la nube de olor a acre
que el humo va creando,
ese pasado hecho costumbre.

Voy a prender un incienso,
para desterrar todo el mal
que a mi alrededor se abruma.

Lo pondré junto a mi cuarto.
Que el olor lo cubra todo,
y se lleve con él, aquellos pecados
que por mi mente pasan sin permiso,
y llevan un mismo nombre.

Voy a prender un incienso,
y guardaré las cenizas para mí.
Será mi amuleto contra la nostalgia.
Contra el maltiempo con que la vida,
austera y mordaz, arrecia.

remember
the days spent under the sun
nestled between the boughs of the oaks
disturbing the woods
with our cries of joy?
you'd brandish a stick
call it a sword
and we'd dance our dance
to the tune of competition.
we'd skip to the creek
I'd tell you not to sit on the log
that rested precariously on the banks.
you'd laugh
and to show off you'd make me worry.
we'd skip stones,
flat ones,
pretty ones,
that I'd stow away in my pockets,
until mother made us throw them away.
dusk and dawn we'd live in the woods,
a pair of ragtag kids with nothing to do

I loved you the first time
I loved you the last time
Mon amour, your eyes, like a peacock feather kissed by the sun, glancing between emerald and sapphire, as if nature blessed your eyes with petrichor and the scent of endless blue.

Hair like wheat fields, a lion's mane swirled with amber and gold.
Curls soft and elegant
Unadorned but intricate

You stood with peau beige skin
Warm but yet so cold and unsure
It glimmers in the sun, ivory white
Unbleached, untouched.

You werent just perfect, your heart was as kind as the first rain after a drought, gentle, soaking into the cracks.
Love soft, kind, Agape and selfless.
All the things you do, the ways you move, they send me straight to heaven.

We danced in fire, we spoke in stars,
Our whispers rode on midnight cars.
Your laugh would bloom where silence grew,
And every dream began with you.

But now your words fall cold and thin,
Like echoes lost in rusted tin.
Your hand once burned to meet with mine
Now slips away, devoid of sign.

We used to kiss like time stood still,
Now even touch feels forced, uphill.
We shared a world, a sacred art
But this is a far cry from the start.

No storms, no fights, just quiet air,
And all the passion stripped to bare.
We smile on cue, we play the part
Yet love has slipped out from the heart.

So here we are, not near, not far
Two strangers orbiting one star.
And though you’re here, I fall apart
This love’s a far cry from the start.

I left an earring on your nightstand
like a dare,
like a dog whistle only I could hear,
like a lie I could almost live with,
like a warning you didn’t read.

You wrote me like you were killing time.
I let you.
I was tired—
tired of being the intermission
between things you actually wanted,
tired of holding out my hands
just to catch the sound of you leaving.

It was raining the next day.
Of course it was raining.
The whole city smelled like last chances
wrung out in the gutter,
like a bouquet dropped
when someone realized it wouldn’t change anything,

You said,
"Take care of yourself."
And I did—
by breaking every mirror
that still showed me your mouth,
by smashing every reflection
that looked like hope.

There's a version of me
still waiting at that train station—
wearing the wrong jacket,
gripping the wrong book,
mistaking longing for directions,
carrying promises like ballast.
I'll know it's you
by the way my spine recognizes the disaster
before my eyes do.

I hope she never learns.
I hope she keeps looking up every time the wind shifts.
I hope she believes in arrivals.
Even when no one steps off.

The weather seems alright, beautiful and uptight,
Sweet with less avarice, an endless horizon, and a fleeting sight.
In my world, she was the weather,
I could do anything, but with her, I seem to do better.
Nothing seemed impossible, not even venturing through the Nether.
Effulgent was her presence; enticing, her nature,
The talks kept getting better and better and better,
It felt like the one we were looking for was here to savor.

Malicious and full of grief that once seemed as my future,
Looked like a disoriented thought more than ever.
I remember,
Back in the day when I was wilding,
Beautiful waves of comedic relief were a frequent sighting,
I used to have fun and not fight,
These demons, these thoughts that were always spouting,
Restraining me since I always doubted (myself),
But I knew there's always something,
To get me started,
I relinquished myself from ever doubting.

Nostalgic,
Thought that would be the way to deal with such things,
Big mistake! Because I got apprehended,
Condescending, thoughts got crazy; nobody to talk to, baby.
Misdirection, mazes of maybes, intercepting, decisions hazy,
On second thought, this person's lazy.

Now in a field of darkness, so full of despair,
I found you out of nowhere,
A spark of light and a gasp for air,
That's what I felt when my gaze landed upon you,
That even I could prosper, even by the length of a hair.
I was delighted for that came as a conclusion,
For a long time, I hadn't smiled, but then I did, as if I were adhered,
Sickeningly, any bond I form is doomed to fall, I fear,
Regardless of how much I do, it's always a "Too Sweet" kind of dilemma, my dear,
I don't easily love, but I loved you, even if it was due to my insecurities and issues, I state my mind clear,
Kind of pointless to rant and yap to myself, writing paragraphs upon paragraphs, hoping you'd notice; clowning myself, makes me jeer,
I guess that's how the story goes for a hopeless romantic expecting love to be simple as he was sincere.

With all these melodramatic events, I reckon he could really do some improv,
One such thing is doing a show, but won't it be too rough?
He might become yet another one to bite the dust,
A victim of emotion,
A victim of trust.
Life's predicament is quite harsh and if not for his experience, he'd been lost,
Though sounds drastic and revolting,
Giving up can also be a sign of love,
A hope for emotion,
A hope for trust,
Thus, this lousy "Rascal doesn't dream of falling in love”.

                                                                                      -Asher Graves

There’s something sitting on my brain.
Something disconnected.
No current. No spark.

My eyes are rolling loose in their sockets.
My voice sounds like it’s
on the other side of a wall.

I didn’t want to leave the house,
but the sun reached through the window
and coaxed me out.

Then, a brown-haired woman
with crystal eyes and porcelain cheeks
walked by,
and I caught the soft pull of her
flowery, spring-scented perfume.

It was cherries,
and my love,
and everything good.
It was honey.
It was holding my mother’s hand to cross the street.

it smells like the smoke of a barbecue in my grandparents' backyard,
the perfume my brother pretended to be allergic to so i wouldn't buy it,
the kitchen before christmas dinner

it tastes like the pumpkin and feta bread my mother used to make,
the blackberries from my grandmother's tree,
the fish and chips on saturdays

it sounds like all the dumb youtube videos,
the songs blasted on the small cd player on the desk,
the conversations that blend together over dinner

it looks like the rollerblades with a broken strap,
the overgrown garden we could get lost in,
the playground with the train

it feels like collapsing on the couch after marathoning the one just dance song we know off by heart,
like laughing until our chests ache and crying until the same,
like looking back and wishing i still knew all these things