May 2012
2 tags
Santa Monica grew seas of fragile poppies on these arms,  ones that crave the embrace of salted winds and the coastal lick. I return to where the grains do lie,  to where these bones have settled in their places: rooted like the flowers.
May 24th
9 notes
2 tags
I desired a word with you, but I came at you in tongues. I looked then, to my fingers:  hoarse, gasping every syllable.
May 22nd
37 notes
2 poems published in Spires magazine :) Thanks, readers and friends, for the support!
May 22nd
26 notes
2 tags
The prosecco giggles again at the primal scene, where it once tasted sweeter in dry pairs yet now remains eclipsed as a maimed sunset of stale half-lights.
May 21st
7 notes
1 tag
“He wanted to ask Seven Seas where trees got names, watching the ribbed branches...”
– Derek Walcott, Omeros
May 21st
11 notes
3 tags
The mud spoke to me in a cool dialect, and I lay soaked like thirsty rice paper because I was parchment  written into being as the scrolls he  used to recite by the roots of his heart. My anguish lashing, I feel the rain coarsen as the seconds cement into histories that will carve itself into my face in time: whispered like leaves scratching across the dark full of fireflies.  
May 21st
16 notes
2 tags
Swiftest is his hand, raw and crying for salts, that corrals with crimson the feral night-fevers lancing through him, and whether he may be burning for sooth, or forcing Hell into three-lined stanzas, there are no masterpieces to be written in cooling waters. 
May 20th
10 notes
3 tags
I feel my scalp, glazed with sweat, scalded by memory: there were pillars that fell that day when clouds were rising like fresh loaves and the sun had given us the kisses that are often exhaled yet left to spider away unsaid. You are to me as the frayed whiskers of the storm that my bones did feel yet discounted: little will you know of my half-naked shouts that leave me gasping for breath against...
May 19th
14 notes
May 19th
13 notes
2 tags
He hailed me like a cab, brusque with a certain heavy-handedness, that surrendered me later  to the soggy gravity of being thrust curbside with parchment arms full of boxes pregnant with orphaned trinkets left to mingle in the deadspace of our garret.  
May 18th
21 notes
2 tags
Lightning scalped the smog from flat tops crunchy with concrete crusts, and I huddled beneath the awning with the ever-flickering lights, as I fingered the keypad for his voice so dry.
May 17th
15 notes
2 tags
Sunset hunter,  (one of your enveloping epithets) for I stopped to watch the dusk against your jaw  break like strokes of a child’s handwriting. Childish was I to envy the dying day, decrepit with  color and bloom, but I, suffused with creeping jasmine, could not kiss nearly with such ferocity.
May 15th
26 notes
2 tags
As I gingerly savored my piece of sake on the platter, he lifted the cup to his lips with laughter along the rim: “Los Angeles is the worst place for intellectuals to date.” He was right, and as I shifted my weight uneasily in my seat, I rifled in the span of seconds through the faces and the beds I had come to know. I relived him, relived them. Anyone who meets me knows I am nothing...
May 15th
14 notes
1 tag
He carried his three and twenty years as if they were fewer than ten, and his lightness sweetened my tongue like a tartlet that I ate to the very last crumb. Yet he remained on my fingers, weighing in heavy creams on these cracking knuckles. So I lick them clean, yet there is no escape from the palate he has graced: I file down my sweet tooth for my just desserts.
May 15th
8 notes
4 tags
Silence falls in striped veils, like the thickest of night, and I collide with your outline to see your jowl so changed, changed as if the years had passed over it in breaking waves that kissed away the hard of your grave-stone, that which these lips so failed to perform at the precipice of our last meeting: where I chose to leap, whereas you took to parting, again, again, again only to return as...
May 14th
18 notes
2 tags
My appraisal took but one handtouch along the lines of your chapped face before I unbuttoned your coat to press  myself against your heated center fueled by fallen pines:  where I’d be seized with a cherishing, a silent arresting of my breath.
May 14th
14 notes
2 tags
As he tore away from me, he stopped in his Italian way to spin for me with his tongue spools of gold for my dreams, as if I had to pay my way with coins in my eyes along what I fantasize to be rivers: there, a boy may finally forget himself. 
May 13th
16 notes
1 tag
“But, ah me! Where is the woman who had ever really torn from her heart the image...”
– Wilkie Collins; The Woman in White
May 12th
8 notes
2 tags
In stabs of light, Sol, into my chamber, prowls in gasping heats, throbbing wild with visions seared by yonder horizon: limbs and sky laugh in clotted blood.
May 12th
13 notes
3 tags
Sensation is how we  five-fingered, even with the press of your manhandled hands so unlike my stradivarius-brittle, which sung in your lifelines  that my mother taught me once to read.
May 10th
23 notes
2 tags
Mark me: how I’ll clutch at cloud-shadows weighing on the golden rushes, how I’ll sink my teeth into the twilight trembling over the knolls until the horizons are on my lips again as they were when we sang in the dead-dark of a midnight not yet silenced.  
May 9th
20 notes
1 tag
My undergraduate career is about a month away from its conclusion. I’m thinking of retiring “graffitiesprit.” I have had that inclination for a long while. To be honest, this tumblr has lasted far longer than I expected it would, and you know, I’ve accomplished so much while here. Met so many of you that gave me reasons to continue writing and exploring. It scares me to...
May 9th
19 notes
2 tags
The champagne flutes recall in frothing mirth that dusk of spring when your eyes arrested me: pale faces flushed red with my breath having wandered from me towards the tails of sea air, crisp against lips of salt.
May 8th
19 notes
May 8th
4 notes
3 tags
The cavalcade of her shining marched into the brushwork of my hair, marooning on each shadow the print of her lightening kisses flecked with dusts of gold. 
May 7th
23 notes
2 tags
I wrestled with dawn’s arms, white smooth heat, because I intended to remain  a still-life, sandy-eyed and shadowed,  beside you in blanket dunes.
May 6th
26 notes
Anonymous asked: Hey. Would like to know your thoughts about poetry. What is it to you and in what ways are you it. Many thanks
May 6th
8 notes
2 tags
The spindles broke in the zone of breaths left to die between us, and the day broke into greys, wet with discordance, as I broke my bread full of prayers to the Architect and his broken blueprints. 
May 6th
14 notes
2 tags
I committed my lagging eye to the turrets at ghost’s walk, which I saw melt like kingdoms evacuated into slothful rivers crawling proudly with fluid flag into cavern maws  laden with crystal teeth.  
May 5th
13 notes
3 tags
The days bite like his leg exposed from sheets stacked Napoleon-style, cream white off the edges shivering as we lay bedridden with fevers worthy of hot jazz: our own speakeasy with passwords composed of what the flesh did say.
May 4th
26 notes
2 tags
λωτοφάγοι
My molars grind against the lotus seeds,   (sweet bursts like dates) as apathy blooms in fallals,  whisking into white the grey mindsea.
May 3rd
16 notes
2 tags
Crumpling myself beside the small of him like an unloaded gun, we had stopped to feed our habits made of pulses quickening to the pace of his reading me like tea leaves.
May 3rd
75 notes
2 tags
Gripping to the trails of her skirt were the wind’s tousled memorandums, a criss-crossing parchment of my plainer, dryer sentiments wound tightly in the way letter kisses letter until sealed with moist gravity. 
May 1st
30 notes
2 tags
The candles faint in the twilight of their waxen days and though we like to shimmer, I bite my lips at the dusk of when we might one morrow fail to glow until we, as hearths, are  mansioned overhead   in the house of the sun to burn brilliantly in thousands of other eyes.  
May 1st
33 notes
April 2012
2 tags
Wrung dry, the sieve shakes itself of hooked dreamlings with a tooth caught in the netting of malcontents and cabarets of sweating nights whiskey-bound, spent climbing for breath.
Apr 30th
47 notes
1 tag
La Noyée
She puffs in my direction dogeared love letters of how she drowned in marine tide pools, but I catch the siren smoke rings wrought of her lipwriting that betrayed her head-first dive into the layers of him. 
Apr 29th
14 notes
9 tags
Apr 29th
16 notes
1 tag
Disregard the flitting  of sore eyes that trace the flight path of your fingers across steel strings to the cadence paved by toe taps and fragrant sprigs of heartrhythms that I may never be privy to. 
Apr 29th
70 notes
3 tags
It took a single misstep before I had to muster the once-torn fibers and glass heel to pad your footing with my own. I felt then the jolts of your knee that buckled not in deference but in growing pains, and there we would lay, grounded where for just a minute or two the world would revolve around us.  
Apr 28th
13 notes
1 tag
I’ve resisted for a good while now writing about this, but I believe this might be a good learning moment for both myself and my readership. For awhile now, an anonymous person claiming to have a MFA has been plaguing my inbox with scathing critiques of my work. At first, I was pretty numb to it having received criticism in that way countless times before. My usual method is not to validate...
Apr 26th
22 notes
2 tags
I am willed toward the white arms of Anaktoria, beloved for her lovely walk that spills over in fragmented lilies blooming in stirs of water: palms and thighs open to painter’s blue, she marks where I will be face first, limp as dead.
Apr 26th
13 notes
2 tags
The way I learned to write was to trace the malformed letters, looped with flesh as cursive seedlings, of those with ambrosia and ennui between their teeth.
Apr 25th
31 notes
2 tags
Long long before you, I had resorted to pushing aside to the chipped fringes of salvaged china the haricots verts overboiled. Habitual, indeed, that I forsook  old greens so salted against my forked tongue to make of them the irises that possessed Van Gogh.
Apr 24th
16 notes
2 tags
I think often of apple cores, and how it took but one to fell cities and slander her now tucked away as a willing prisoner in the  silent immensities of concrete seas.  Think now of the bodies that paid for the weaving of one bone-torn from him, who will now join her to wring atonement from high hearts and swallow the core whole.
Apr 24th
15 notes
2 tags
I once told him that I wanted this to be a repository of beautiful things. But perhaps I have failed in my endeavors to collect the words properly, to arrange them better than Victor did when he dared to peruse the charnel houses for those beautiful parts. Uprooted wildflowers and gutter trinkets make for such filthy pastiches. So cluttered, unbreathable.
Apr 23rd
21 notes
2 tags
Suspension is this lanky form in the mire of phantoms that coalesce into the night air threading its hydra heads into the notches in my bones humming flatly an old blues tune.
Apr 21st
20 notes
1 tag
I come upon these arcing lips straining to shape a name that melts the shaft of crossbow glances with corpse-fires quenchless.
Apr 19th
34 notes
2 tags
Mighty shall these palms ever be that knead the frozen halfness of stakes driven into the titan arms with which I’ve cathected.
Apr 18th
13 notes
1 tag
Look, dear sir, at the phantom games of how the shuttle hustles along the rails of sinister designs, how I seem to find these hands engaged in the deepest games of chess with the very ghostly sinews of an adversary.
Apr 17th
20 notes
2 tags
Apr 17th
25 notes