the other end

Today, I would hide
for his coming
for hounding crows
for a mark
that even the stars
fear they cannot hide its vastness
painted on my heaving chest.

Someday, I would aspire
for his sins
for switchings
for a song
that allows the sun
not to shine upon me,
the delight of lurking in the shadow.

Tomorrow, I would find
for his perfume
for fallacies
for a piece of fiction
wherein fantasies
benefits as something factual,
wherein the flow of words hums in my ears.

Or maybe none of these.

In each and every day
I would only look
for the night when fingers intertwined,
dark and light,
and when lips seal on places
it should not have been
let me do this,
let me close the lids
of those eyes,
let me cover the lips
of that mouth
for it still remains true,
truer than nature,
that by doing these
we both celebrate and grieve
the birth of distance.

(for A. whom I should have never mused minutes ago)
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