Poem

A soft touch breaks through
The vacuum of indifference
With a surge of warmth. - Haiku #12

When we strolled down the road
just before the silent welcoming doors of your house
while casually observing
the lone wild flower, yellow and tall,
growing in between the cracks
of the unpaved sidewalk,
I said "look how brave it stands
when all that surround it is dead!"
You silently took my arm
with your little palm
and pulled me closer to your side,
your hair brushing slightly by my shoulder,
your slight sigh weighing heavily on my shoulder,
I said "I wonder how long it will stand
before some mean kid kicks it dead!"
You grabbed onto my arm tighter
and leaned onto my side.
From that point I understand
that my words have no meaning without you.

When you closed the door of your room,
you have just opened an entirely different realm,
an extra dimension of space
containing nothing but everything,
a lighted room but without shadows.
Hence I cannot play that game with you,
where you take out your hand,
hold it beneath a lamp and
try to make different animal shapes.
A philosopher once said,
"shapes are illusions; we should never
believe in illusions."
And so I chose to do what I do best:
I told you stories from my life -
Childish love stories in particular:
my first beauty, my first crush,
my first betrayal, my first obssession.
Intoxicated by my own story,
I looked to your eyes to find approval,
but instead you put your arms
around my waist, and rested your head
above my flabby tummy;
"I should write down my stories",
I said to you, knowing full well that
you have just told the real story.

When we spread ourselves on your bed,
I chattered on and on,
performing my personality
(and what a spectular performance it was!),
until the tension of pain and joy
tore apart my throat
and there was blood painting over
my desert lips;
desperately I searched in your eyes
signs of understanding:
have I spoken in vain, or was it just vanity that I speak?
I found no answer in your eyes,
for as you leaned forward towards me
you closed your eyes
and silenced all skeptical thoughts
when you sucked my lips dry with your own:
you had answered all my doubts
and all questions that I have not even thought of.
And what else can I say except,
"Was this your first time?"
But it does not even make a difference -
Kiss me again, and I will forget the answer.

In between words
are silent universes
that are impregnated
with many meanings,
both literal and symbolic
of unspeakable things.