like every language,
i want to be placed on the tongue.
i want my body to be given a name
the soft downpour of rain
will only come forth
to cleanse but never erase.
from a kapok, I am liking myself
a boy filling himself with fresh water
that is he runs into the past
& there is nothing there to find
except his hands. touching a man
gently doesn’t mean love
if none of them is patient enough
to know what the ending looks like.
once I stared into an ocean,
my dreams was a sinking boat
begging to be saved, yet I kept staring.
& I kept staring.
because my hands were not mine
& nothing really matters.
because most times all we wanted
was flow out of this body
we fail to remember
how the throat will always have more life
how can a man stop himself
when there is nobody
to sing him away from water?
how does a bird defy departure
while an arrow runaway with its voice?
i am asking because this room is empty
& I am only left with myself.
left with myself i am only left
& a little body of water.