Invariably hungry for you.
I smile silently
week after week mocked by the memories
of how you walk towards my face,
dozens of fresh waves pass
quickly across my lungs –
there are sensations too fine
and I shall not attempt to write how it felt
to be enveloped by you.
Some things are perhaps better left unsaid.
However, in your absence, my only occupation is to write poems
that would make someone smile and speed the time along.
Am I alone in this room?
No, you are with me,
but only your duplicate on the ceiling –
I am reliving our first short kiss.
I may be ridiculously absurd but that morning
I felt my whole body flowing above this life,
the moment i got out of bed I knew i would be back,
and I would give no final kiss.
Fortunately, I have developed the unpardonable habit
of seeing you on the ceiling.
To make matters more perplexing,
I have begun a first-class voyage to revive your every kiss.
The results are beautiful and well-composed:
I have developed the spirit of strict and silent devotion
to going backstage of our grand opera
where the avalanche of kisses engulfs us,
where we become stronger.
Nothing is more right, natural and needed
to be standing on one of my elbows
almost fainting to fall asleep
still with the last ounce of energy
to be invariably hungry for you.