clandestine

I got used to you, too much
maybe
the ancient hours graze an all-too
digital face as the seconds
dissipate, in between the dark
of this dingy hotel room
locked inside out, i don’t mind if you
swallowed the key

we are apart
my head rests on a pillow where i
cannot feel your weight, and i
imagine silence that can stretch to a
forever that i do not want to be a part of.
i don’t ever want to listen to just my own
breathing. so i want to take you on my astral
travels, and then some.
never apart, again

i quit being a singular organism
that is merely a part of this throbbing
universe because you are here.
i question a force that is beyond you and i,
when the first cell emerged from solid rock
3.5 billion years ago. if we are all speckles,
you are still slight larger.
i am younger, a mystery to myself while
you know where to land

i got used to you. of course
you are faultless in this endeavour.
i have only myself to blame for trying
to hitchhike onto your orbit
i’m trying to catch up with the miles
you have travelled and when i finally lodge
myself next to you, then maybe we can start
counting the next ten-thousand, or a hundred more.
whatever works

there are no maps to follow
no ‘x’ marks the spot. i am blind on this
journey, so i have only my hands to hold you
until fuel burns out. (oh god, no)
i’ll find a way to survive if dislodged
maybe another lonely planet to venture
and all that’s left would be your form grazing
a half-past midnight shadow of myself,
trying to be alright

we are all things, but not

Once you told me that we were both cats, in another life. With your head resting on my shoulder, I believe you. One day, you told me that I could have been a queen, which is something you have repeated many times since. You said that I have a look. “What ‘look’?” “Just a vibe.” You called yourself a king, and then a commoner, you also said that you were enlightened. I believe you. Once, I said, “no, I am not a queen.” I am a sage, or a wizard, a hermit, an aesthete, ascetic and then you insist that I must have been bourgeois. I don’t believe in the universe putting two together because it’s complete bullshit because ‘the one’ isn’t made, it is a choice but then you tell me that I am you and you are me and that we are one and I believe you.

chasing sunsets

We are always chasing sunsets
before the sky dissolves
into darkened ash
Maybe it’s the thrill of the moment
even
for a little while
but the five cent coin
rolls itself into the gutter
and the quiet recollections
squares itself off
and the AM track is white noise
by the laneway
I don’t see what you see and
maybe that’s okay
Or the aversion of bright headlights
at the tailend of things
and the noise is louder than it has
ever been and we are standing by
a telescope gazing into–
watching fast cars
and street lamps collide

202746658

things would have made more sense
if it wasn’t for this mall
and bright lights
and haze
and the noise,
maybe

I couldn’t hold your hand just quite right. Clung for a while and then I gave your arm back to you and my arm back to being mine, and I looked ahead wondering where to go from here. It could’ve been warmer maybe if the air-condition wasn’t so cold

again, the noise

It feels like we had left each other way past when our fingers clasped but the sweat, and words slipped through the cracks where our hands held tight but not tight enough. Your face looks different. I’m trying to capture it but  all i’m thinking of is the conversation where you are not a part of and home and work and when someone told me “ko tinguk kan sekarang orang putih ni semua pun pandai makan nasi oh”

I dragged you to my favourite store. You shirt smells burnt. Cigarettes. Strong. Not you. Not how i’m used to. I gave you a scowl. You asked why. I leaped to the other lane to get away. Saw you walking out for another cigarette, maybe? Malboros was it? I wanted to see the pack, but you said no. I don’t know what for or why I asked to see – maybe to capture something of you that i didn’t grow into knowing.

How did 6 months feel like a trillion hours spent on nothing

Standing on a ledge looking at tiny people. this mall is deadly. the city is only ever good for the vices in life i told you. I miss it when i can but i’ll never miss it in the remembrances where my head reels into the crazy lights and neon satchels and mannequins without faces, wearing clothes we’re supposed to see ourselves in; pale masks and vague illusions. billboards, tv, radio, shiny.

black is the colour you choose, like. i always preferred navy blue or a midnight shade.

we didn’t eat.

you left at a quarter past eight, maybe. and i walked into the hotel lobby. tried to make sense of the bright lights again wondering if the dizzying hue, and the glitz from this girl’s dress could set things right where my eyes met the arrow up button and i pressed the 17th floor, more lights, a view of cars streaming into the highway and with us and leaving and waiting and waiting.

what did dr seuss say? don’t spend your life waiting? time waiting? but it’s all we ever do anyway. minutes tick by. I had spilled everything walking on that clean floor, tiles reflecting steps– dirtied. I don’t know about you going up that bus. Did we walk the same pace?