there is alchemy
in my blood; it draws
you like wildfire, indifferently.
my words build the bridges
your absence pulls down;
while i connect the stars like needlepricks
between synapses, mapping
consciousness and constellations
with the electricity of a penstroke,
you sleep pressed tight
against the cottony pillow
of paper dreams. i am the
to the truths you never knew,
the quiet rejoinder
to all the hopes you ever surrendered.
if one day our tongues meet
across a coffee table or a revolution
don’t speak to me of love poetry:
i prefer your bitter
silence and the offbeat
of brokenhearted arrhythmia.
- et mentem mortalia tangunt (a little about me)