The golden light goes out,

as the the cloud tower gets higher, higher

to the highest point, as if the weather put

a spell under your eyelashes, kissing your

bare face as the wind gushed and half rose

flipping your hair as the bell drops,

I'm in love with the thought of loving you.

In the thousand rooms of sleep,

none could take me out my dream,

I'm waiting for the bell to strike at twelve,

perhaps your lips/touching the letter as mine

into the night that gets closed with shutting

doors, I'm carving out your name in a long

draining whisper.

And the night gets longer,

love moans out in the dark shadow

of walls, I'm hearing the oak tree to break

in the lantern sheets, colors splashing

together in tides, color me in love so when

the sound blares out—I'll be drenched

in your cologne.

Then the wind, wind, wind shrieks, dashing

on the leaves, I'm having that stupid

dream—your shadow on mine, desires

stirring on a hot pot, I'm putting my faith

on the broth soup, yet you left me wanting

and waning more in your candle flames,

Did I become a moth to catch the fire?

It's the fire of tumultuous wind,

You said, you won't forget my name—

not today, not tomorrow and there's you

sliding down the knotted sheet, I lean

down to your face in the rain to fall, fall

again like a cheshire cat in the narrow

street, it's only you on my lips.

It's not love, it's not love, it's the breathing

fire: spreading, speeding through the night,

whipping, lashing touch in bare arms—

you want more, a touch: burning holes

on my threading hope, so I curl like a fallen

branch in your ghost room, whether you

stay/freeze.

Did you love me like you mean?

All I'm seeing the damp sinuous fingers

in the thousand rooms, you're hopping

as a ghost to slip through pass time,

Here, I'm burning my letters in misty crime—

you didn't move, you didn't stay, instead

you became a shadow of my death lips.

— 13th January, 2025.
________

I may or I may not put some easter eggs here, did you notice it?