Afterglow

Roll over to
Sponge up the
Warmth of the
Ghost left behind
Fast evaporating
Into trajectory
Of disdain
Whisked away on
Pitter patter paws
Flash of whisker
Out through my
Bedroom door.

Boxhead

Boxhead, boxhead 

Like a porous loaf of bread 

Dry and brown and plain

Conveniently stackable 

Unassuming flammable 

Easy to maintain 

Empty and collapsible 

Shake-rattle-rollable 

Utterly inane 

Favorite colors, birthday dates 

Bits and bobs and whatsherface 

Paper shredder brain 

Pulped and bleached recyclable 

New and clean and writable 

Broken thought of train 

Permissibly strange 

Oddly, can’t complain

McDonald's Is A Whore

McDonald’s is a mistress
McDonald’s is a whore
Her love is cheap and easy game
Her embrace forevermore
You tangle in her golden locks
When the canteen is abyss

Turning to her open arms
And sweet McFlurried kiss
She begs of you
To stay into
The long and lonely night
The warmth of home
And wholesome meals

Can wait until the light
At the tunnel’s end
When all is done
And exams but a memory
Yet you’ll come back another year
Her love is misery but McSpicy

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Okay context: I'm currently in university studying Industrial Design. Oftentimes, especially when project submissions are due, many of us will stay late in studio, working. The canteen closes kinda early (can you believe our canteen is called Techno Edge??? Ew) so after a certain time, McDonald's is our only option left. It becomes an ultimatum where we either have to go home for food, or succumb to McDonald's in order to keep working in studio.

A Salve

Thinking
I turn the words over
And over in my mind
Pebble in hand
Each syllable I find
A dip in the surface
Smooth and austere
Closing a fist
I hold your words dear
And fling them across the water
Skipping, sinking

Stalks Beneath The Wind

In humble golden pastures
Folding into endless skies,
Frost perched atop the sprays of stalks
Threw suns into my eyes.

If mottled marbled welts of snow
Ebbing slowly into themselves
Know their place before the mountains
And the morn that is their knell,

Then I too bow as the cold seeps in,
Like those humble stalks beneath the wind.

Winter Pastoral

Little tree
How many suns
Have bathed you
That they blaze forth
From your branches
Orange-pink rubies
Throwing their fire
Back into the winter sky?

Discourse

How does one share a glass
With another who does not drink?
Who does not sip
And taste
The same notes that you taste
Who swallows the ocean
If only for its water
And cares not for the salt that christens it?
How does one share a roomful of air
With another who does not breathe?
Who will stand in proximity
Even touch their toes to yours
Their fingers to yours
Limbs encasing
But not extend their presence
Beyond the wall of lung
And skin
And sweat
Refusing to release themselves
Into the same space
And take back a piece of otherness
Only to discover it no different?
How does one share a life
With another who does not
Will not
Cannot
Live?