C'est la vie

Let us go then, you and I.
Sigh, and say 'lah we', and whisper, that
we don't add up, and don't love enough
to change the numbers we are.

Mutter in mature moments
that it's nobody's fault, as we
relax friendship into
muffled memories.

Gift each other in parting:
a pair of matching saccharine smiles;
one for you, and one for me.
To wear on familiar nights.

Idea

I fall in love
with ideas
all the time:
quantum mechanics, you, communism.

You're just a figure
of my speech.

...

Darling,
this poem is not for you. It's
for the idea of the idea of you.

Autumn

Whiff of your evening
dress; reminder of that which
is fresh in its death.

Ambition

... should be made of sterner stuff.

...

Love casts humans
into jugs of wine.
All my sorrows will be quenched (I foolishly
muse),
once I drink
of your arms.

Why else would I desire
only
when my eyelashes
are heaviest?

...

I remember lying there with you that late afternoon, on your grumbling bed. Hearts were content, all aspiration silenced under the soft rumbling of fulfilled desire.

Ambition is human, to make love divine.
Ordained by selfish nature are we
to seek affection,
in quiet desperation.

Reciprocation
imparts meaning to our rootless brains -
every tiny touch
a silver medal.

...

I love you to distract myself. There's emptiness inside, spaces that yearn for something better, the latent hope that fulfillment lies somewhere in the external; I love in the hope that you will fill me.

Happy Birthday, Mon Gato

I can still recall

our last December.

We shared our love

of a certain

grey, somewhat spherical

kitty.

And now here we are.

And I finally have a dear friend

~my height.

Happy Birthday/Joyeux Anniversaire/Sana Halwa Ya Gameel!

My favourite Lebanese <3

Ironic

Eats free-range chicken
for dinner; twelve hours later:
breakfasts on a desk.

Munchkin

The only real miracle -
turning plasma into pulsing potential, that
thrums between two tiny grinning ears, studded
with two tiny earrings - the beginnings of
feminine maturity.

We quietly throb with fragile complexity.

Eight years ago
my little cousin was born of, from and into
love.

Sap mounts in trees. Lovers kiss, unseen. An old woman sighs her last, 
and in the other room,
A child giggles self-unconsciously.

Happy Birthday, darling Riva Ariana Kaul.
You are loved.
<3