It is raining blood today.
I open my book and write “Black Lives Matter

All I want in this life are three…
a moonlit beach on the starlit sea,
a breath of opium,
and thee.

I know you not quite well
Yet I foolishly surrender my mind to you.
Slowly and carefully you have cast a spell
Now my virgin heart only longs for you.
There is no need to push, I am already falling.
Once proudly tall, I’m no longer standing.
Knowing well that I am doomed to misery,
I will roll the dice and take delight in my suffering.

I open my eyes.
I want to know:
what is in the abyss of a kiss?
Are stars born in these black caves
that house bated breaths and unspoken words?
Do our souls crawl on these tender cheeks
to greet one another by ivory gates?
What happens when we kiss?
Where do you go?
Don’t tell me.
For I have lost my desire to know.
Kiss me
so that I forget myself.
I close my eyes
and fall in the abyss.

Do the lovers know
that when they whisper these poems
they are commemorating our love?
Do they ever think of you and me
or only of themselves?
Do they know that I once found
a strand of your hair
and wore it around my neck
like a necklace?
That I kiss your hands
more than I kiss your lips?
Do they realise that our love
and their love
are drops in the universe’s ocean of love
and that without any of these drops,
the ocean would be
less?

You think that you’ve moved on.
That you’re happier
and now that you think about it –
you’re quite glad
that it didn’t work out
because you are free
and happy.
You’re so happy.
And it’s better this way.
“Here,
let me tell you my reasons,”
you say. “Let me explain
what I mean.”
After hours of telling
your neighbour and
the florist
and the girl on the bus,
you conclude:
“So, you see? I’m happier now.

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