Gordon

You entered into
           my life
on the face of a
           warm breeze

and unfurled me. a
         flower in the
midst of spring. Opening
         to the gentle touch
of the moon.

a shrubbed field. yellow.
         dotted. full. bare and
open to the sun.

therein, my spirit
         lay
               dormant.

awaiting the touch
         of your soul
                to awaken.

Mariana

              I

Two continents apart

we met on a third 

      By chance. 

I snuck in front  

    of her in the airline

queue and gave 

   her my most sheepish

                smile. 

forgive my impatience 

    my eyes said. and she

obliged 

   by graceful ignorance.

I thought I would 

   never see that 

boyishly beautiful 

  face again.

Then, in wet Malay air
 we found ourselves
outside sharing a
           cigarette.

A car ride later, 

 against the backdrop of tall palms 

her asymmetric earrings only

 set off by her loose 

slacks, soft leather brogues and the tattoo

    - of an arrow- 

         on her left arm.

Something inside me came alive.  

               II

 Her eyes: dark cherry brown.

 fuzzy milk

        chocolate hair. 

She was full. All cream

               all richness.

               III

We arrived. Do you have a partner?
   she or I

asked,
   I don't remember. But I 

answered: "No, but I do go both 

ways." "So do I."

          An affirmation.

               IV

Over days, she shared her
  cigarettes with me 

The burn in my throat
  only reflecting 

 how I burnt for her.

She, so sensitive in her

    sacred,
     wicker constitution.

                V

One dark night (The Godess
only knows how we got there, bless her)

          we lie on a bed...

   desire tangible in the air.

Like smog.
my head against
        the pillow, hers at the end
of the bed. She leant (or was it leapt?) forward
 and kissed me.

      Cherub lips

all petals 
     and wet tongue on

peach down.

               VI

Touching her was

   touching a
 white
          flame. 

Which only burnt

brighter when

 I bathed her 

lathery hands 

slipping over

 breasts naturally onto
              the unashamed 

                   convexity of hips,
              soapily and gently
   grazing her crevice.

               VII

Seeing her naked was 

   an apparition. 

Tall
        broad
                 all incurvate.

 I burnt more.

The image

of her naked body

         from behind
               smoldered

    into my mind.

             VIII

Hot, Dewey and Fast:

 we lit each other up

at our apexes.
       all stone churning friction against stone
                 pestle and pestle at ends 

                 and lips brushing and buds pulsating

Reverberating.

Legs slit, scoring and intersecting 

         incising until our silken

                  liquids were one. 

    Then,

I ate - there is no other way to put it - 

   tenderly, greedily, at 

      her Corsage orchid. 

So vigorously, with such hunger,
                                       such thirst, that

At times I almost couldn’t bbbbreathe. 

She pulsed
      under me

        (into me.) 

Legs spread wide

     with my full 

         bristling bulb 

at her juncture

   she opened her 

  lungs and 

                   sang

                the 

                         song 

that brought her home. 

               IX

it was my turn. 

   Oh Goddess.
 she was soft.
  so hard.

in drunken splendour

it was everything.

       it was nothing but

the flame burning bright.

               X

She was.
               Is. 

Full woman. 

                    Mariana. 

Shore

Come closer.
    Breathe.
It is in  your breath
 that you tend.

Engulf me,
  like the waves
lap the shore.

Give, but not,
  too much.

Because, like
  the sand,

i can't retain.

Jason

He came into me,
    tall, phallic, lean,
beauty-FULL. beautiful.
BEAUTIFUL.

he left. quicker than
  he came. yes I mean,
like, during sex.

He indented my psyche,
  dented it. knocked it
in.
    knocked me in.
every fucking time.

and now, all I have
 left is the cavern.

regret is a word,
  only left for the
impulsive,
  obsessive,
     self-giving,
                                empty.

The Chapters Will Write Themselves

words drip from
         my fingertips
and slip off my
         tongue onto
the pages of my
         life, that I
keep writing
     and t-trying to
     rewrite

there is no eraser.
  no backspace, no
     delete. only
margins for error,
     pages for them;
                  of them.


they can, at best,
   be reduced to
              footnotes.
but what if I
   wanted them to be
a chapter?

The chapters will
     write themselves.
word by word.
     space by     space.

breath by
               baited
  breath.

inhalation. exhalation.
fullstop. comma.
              ellipsis...

they'll neatly fold
 over
when complete

and ever so gently,
   or maybe sometimes
with a ____jolt
start anew.

the chapters, love,
   will write
                  themselves.

Half a crescent

When it's been
       about half a
        crescent of
         a moon

and you're thinking
       about a fort-
         night ago

already reminiscing.
        It's time to let
                 go, baby.
        It's time,
               to let go.

I promise you -
  it will lift
    it will lift
     it will lift.

The smog will
  separate. and
light will seep
  through.

Darkness will
 slowly but surely
turn to light.

You will wither
  and bloom.

Moon Sisters

Birthing bone.

  Crown of strength. 

Fully fledged maleficent

    Woman

The moon.

We hold each other 

firm.

    Strong

Blood sisters

At the start
    of the only month
I've come to
    __understand. When
I don't long for
     any lover's touch

you crawl into
    my bed and
surround me
  with your warm
                   hea(r)t

taking the blood
      that br/
                 eaks
from me and
           building
a bond
        eternally strong.

You, are my
reinforced
              lining,
  blood-line
of my choosing.
           my kin.

Honey

Sweet molasses
 our synergies
multiplied
             bring.

Only the
 darkest honey
is delectable.

It grants shifa
 and lines the
river beds of
           heaven.

But are we
    not eachothers
shifa (healing)
             h(e)aven.

Phantoms

Pain. So much pain.
 when did it start? i
jog my memory - can't
recall.

Was it the day he struck
 me with the back of his
strong sinewy hand? Or the
 time i saw him approach
and felt a wet stream run
 down my legs?

Was it when i didn't want
 to go home from school - no
wait - the time I couldn't bring
 myself to go to work?
because i knew what awaited
 me for unhinging the cup-
board door - or was it not
 performing the way i thought
he needed me to? or was it packing
the
 washing away while it was
still damp - or him, or them,
 swearing at me from the
corridor?

Fear. So much fear.
Time warps. My
 ripe uterus coils up in
it - harder - every four weeks.
 My heart beats it, un-
predictably, but like
 clockwork at some point
every day.

What evokes it? is it
 really that i am feeling
death crawl up the arteries
 in my left arm, and is it
really death's spokes in
 my chest amidst a lunch
meeting - no when i travel
 across the world to check on
his health?

Why does the coiling up
 of my uterus feel so
comfortable compared to
death pull-
 ing at the strings of
my life-line on the daily?

yet at the same time why
 do they both cause
me equal but opposite anguish -
 complementary burdens -
partners in this product
 of angst and biology
of nature and nurture.