note

if i could open my eyes, and say good bye to you, little rainbow, i'd paint the sky with stars.

my heart would be in your fist. i swear, you are nowhere to be found.

anymore.

a note

i believe i have never told you the story of my mud house.

and one monsoon, eight months after your birth - they burned my house. with fuming gasoline and tar. i still have a little piece of the molten iron from the door by the alley -scribbled 'sin' across its diagonal. in a bold red; possibly pastel. with the stench of cold, moaning gasoline drips and smudged finger prints. i wish they were mine- little concentric lines piling into a spot.

so many days have passed by. mister x, i still smell your sweat.

note

and mister X, thank you for your time. i appreciate your tenderness.

and mister Y, thank you for your patience. i appreciate your care.

and mister Z, thank you for your gratitude. i love your heart. more so, this one phone conversation which we had. a long time ago. i am sure you have forgotten -do not worry. for, i learned you are a man.

july eighteen

if you break your promise, little pebbles, i will take you home. and they will gape at you with bloody eye lashes.

and they will tell you, little pebbles, give me your hand. and you would be shy. sweaty and slimy. and you would run up to me. patting your little feet on the cold mosaic.

but this time, i will not hold your hand.

july fourteen

little pebbles, i stole your tongue the other night.

and wrapped in my warmth, you heaved a whir of sighs.

and you trickled beads by your pillow. remember that one night?

july ten

and now i know why you walked away.

understand, what you tried to say to me -i didn't smile.

i pulled those strings. the curtains fell in splendor. crimson velvet. through your lashes.

hand in hand, you said. let us pluck those strings.

july eight

i have called you many names.

for a reason.

i wanted you to know that.