I wear your love like a talisman around my neck,
a dream swinging on my eyelashes, a secret, sigh, smile, a moonlit rhapsody.
I wear your love like a prayer on my lips.
in the hardening of my nipples, in the sway of my hips
and you wear mine like trust, like affection, like lust,
You wear my love like a removable wrist watch (and sometimes an unwelcome handcuff).
You wear my love on designated days.
You wear it in capsules of measured time, not a minute less or more.
The hours I am not loving you I’m warring with you.
There are no middle grounds in my Love or Hate.
I shall either save you from damnation or become it for you.
The only law in this jungle is that are no laws in this jungle.
The jungle is vast and mysterious. It changes into other landscapes.
The jungle is an ocean where we are out of our depth.
The jungle is a desert where we are swallowed into mirages.
It is savage, sacrificial and strange.
The jungle is us.
At times you light me on intense fire
and it turns unruly and rebellious till you douse it.
My flames fly inwards, shrinking with hurt,
rolling their tongues back into the mouth of my chest in spontaneous combustion.
I am not what lies in-between this fire and ice. I am extreme. I burn or freeze.
You are neither. You are a mixed signal. A cumpulsive tease.
Comets could wizz past our skies, or Apocalypse
could hit us in the eyes, we wouldn’t notice.
Lost in the welcoming arms of soft silken moments,
we live whole lifetimes
like butterflies.
And when we’re apart, your memory wafts in,
like a fresh mountain breeze,
nudging me in intimate ways and I dissolve each time, into its tangible fragrance.
Each protest of mine is a thorn adorning the roses in your garden.
Every grudge, a leaf orphaned from a tree.
I hate living on the shrug of your nonchalance,
the rebuttal of your whimsy.
For who can hate more than the ones you once began to love.
Hate is a strong word. I use it with a smile.
Holding your hands I sit with you on a heap of your indiscretions and still love you.
I still love you.
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