Noisy birds in my backyard
have a lot to talk about,
like a girl in my arms
Birds kissing on the deck
have many things to share,
like a girl in a motel bed.
Singing bird by my window
tries to lure me into lust,
like girls on the street.
Birds flying away from my tree
have nothing to say to me,
like a girl showing her back.
the christmas that visited me last year,
my still being alive make it come back.
while the christmas tree that was not
trashed is glittering again this year,
i don’t hear ‘merry christmas’ from her
and the bridal chamber is still waiting
to be indulged. the dream of honey-
moon that was shattered and scattered
into the universe. the memory of promise
is still piercing my heart with a spear
head, but the picture i draw is a short
kiss and the only thing left is a touch
of her tongue. her christmas is blue-
tainted too or she is being burned red
in a room? my thirty hand motion that
is groping around the glass wall; the
fatigued phantasy of copulation; the
desire and lust that are turned blue.
blue blue blue blue christmas
a leaf dangling precariously for 20 years
has been finally plucked out.
my heart was not ripped apart, though.
what remain are only broken pieces of memory
in darkish corners of my mind.
the feel of her earlobes;
regret in not being able to kiss;
a bench by the lake in the middle of the night
where we never sat together on;
threatening call to kill herself;
wedding pictures with the handsome younger man;
sultry and clammy fantasy.
the desperate gesture I ignored,
which has become the final one.
final? I look into her picture.
would I want to be a leaf dangling
desperately from her naked twig?
Lips are for kissing;
The kiss sublimates two mortal’s filthy desire into joy,
and comforts and fills the greed of mouth with love;
the greed that only wants physical food.
The kiss consoles the tongue with warm breath;
the pint-sized tongue that slashes heart with a dagger.
must be closed by other open lips.
The use of lips is just one.
A mouth filled with greed and dagger
has a smell of rotten meat.
Which lips can close the lips of that mouth?
What would I do
with the stinking mouth of the girl
I am about to kiss?
With middle-aged wind and frost
deposited on her shoulders,
she was still beautiful.
She didn’t notice my furtive glance?
She was stealing a look at me too?
As if her Venus-like eyes was thinking about yesterday’s rendezvous
As if her pink lips was still feeling the sizzling kiss with her man.
Looked like her tidy breast was still wet with her man’s lovely touch.
Should I be jealousy?
Is this love?
As soon as I came out of the room,
She was forgotten completely!
A one-sided love in a cramped space that
couldn’t overcome the harsh reality.
It’s perhaps lust.
“This is the First Time I felt this way…”
Right There is always the first time.
Even after having lived for millions of years,
There could be first times that hadn’t been tasted.
The first love
The first kiss
The first touch
The first sex
The first goodbye
If you are looking for these first times by
Beating your brains out,
That is called life. But
When facing the first death
If you don’t say “I had a good life….”,
That is not called death and
Even after you die
You are looking for the first death
Wandering around the Hades.
That is called walking dead.
I am trying to complete my life
With a single death…ah! so
I am still hiding in the rose garden
Waiting for the chance of
Grabbing the thrilling first times I’ve never known.