For AC

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or
topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots
off. I love you as certain dark things are to be
loved, in secret, between the shadow and the
soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms but
carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or
from where. I love you straightforwardly, without
complexities or pride; so I love you because I
know no other way

than this: Where “I” does not exist, nor “You”,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Taking it in

Etched in the furrows of my being
I was born before they made crease-free.
Happenings in toto,
My brain has a life of its own
And greedy as hell
Processes all that it sees -
Leaving nothing to imagination.
Imagination left to write verses like these

It means one cannot shut out
Parts of the past that pester;
Nor dodge dollops of happiness
That ever transpired.
I am my own walking memory machine
Forever trying to forget,
But waking each time to realize
That the dream is already lived.