You told me that this house is too small for us to live in. So I built us

a mansion: this funhouse of mirrors.

Now we live on opposite ends of this vast space, comfortable at the edges of our own loneliness,

merely acknowledging the presence of the other

as a next door neighbour

when there are thousands of uninhabited rooms between us,

waiting to be opened,

broken down and passed through.

I long to breach the distance that traps us in an endless hallway of what-ifs–

possibilities that could have materialised

should one of us break this truce

and step on the shards of existences we have shed behind.

I have left a number of broken beer bottles

at my passing. They carelessly scar on

the thin carpet of my skin, warning you

of every landmine I have set up at my defense.

I don’t know how to undo them

so I just pretend they never happened

but from here, I can still hear the sound of the ocean in your room,

the rattle of prayer beads that barbed your front door–

your lifesaver

from the continuous cry of the phone receiver

you left hanging in god knows where.

I know you are still there- breathing

sometimes floating, sometimes drowning

like I do here at the other side-

Oh how we have baptized ourselves over and under

in salt or in liquor

waiting for the sweetness to come

maybe in some guise of an intruder

who’s insane enough to ignore

all the caution tape we have weaved on our fences.

-I guess we are both insane to still believe onto each other

so we wait for one of us to come willing

to lose her place in the process of finding.

It has become quite a game

we are both patient enough to play.

Maybe on particularly good days

when we are almost sober to feel

the dust on our fingertips, we would be able

to grasp the door handles and turn open

each other’s knobs.

Discovering that we are just in adjacent rooms

with a secret door in between.

When that time comes, I will greet you

with a kiss of thousand words unsaid.

Years of longing and loneliness

cleansed away by this very second.

Tears on our cheeks,

hands in your hair, lips on my ear,

flesh pressing on flesh,

nails scraping skin,

mouth drinking from the wells of another–

We will make mad love to each other

tearing these rooms, screaming

through these swelling walls that made us apart.

Until then, this house becomes intact.

A shell for the winter that brews from within.

A body of fragmented personas



From the beginning of time, the goddess reveals herself

through this earth. She comes and strips naked

before the eyes of those she has chosen. She purses her lips,

invites spectators to kiss. Their own fate

she unravels with her skilful tongue:

a tale of eternal sojourns.

This you must know, pilgrim.

There is no quench to your needs,

simply an acknowledgement of it.

Coming to this temple is not the end to your wanderings.

Merely a beginning of infinite pathways

Unfolded through my body

Welcome, touch.

But you must not make a home here.

Instead, I invite you to walk.

Tread with your arms, wrestle with your legs.

Plow, cultivate vegetation into this flesh

trying to swallow you whole

panting, stretching, growling

And when your back has already been clawed raw,

when you have devoured every fruit that grows,

when you have drunk water from every crevice,

when you have released your last seed into this ground,

cast your eyes at the expanse-

at awe in all things around you.

This land renews itself. Opens pathways

for her new stranger.

Let everything behind and before you

pass your view. Go.

Reasons Why I Should Quit Coffee

  1. The moment I started smelling roasted Arabica beans from your hands, I knew I should have quit. It seeps through your skin and inevitably to mine whenever you run your fingers through my hair. I spend countless sleepless nights in my bedroom, inhaling that intoxicating scent of coffee from my pillow. All I could think about are your hands.

  2. Followed that burning smell as if I’m a lost child walking into a caramel house. But I’m not lost, I told myself. I know where I’m going. I know what I want, and I shall have it.

  3. I made you make me a latte. Extra milk, nonfat. All I want is that extra foam on top, but not the extra baggage.

  4. My mouth still burns whenever I taste that Double-shot Americano you had from your tongue. We could all benefit from putting in a bit of milk and sugar, but you prefer yours black and watered. I couldn’t reconcile how a calm, easy-going person such as you would want something that’s devoid of any sweetness at all. Nevertheless, my taste buds still entertained the irony.

  5. I started ordering your brew whenever you are not around. Just to see how far I can go with that strange preference of yours.

  6. After finishing 2 cups, I realize what made you crazy over it. I still don’t know if I’m crazy over it as well.

  7. Indecisiveness is ordering the same damn drink over and over again because I’m afraid that I wouldn’t get my money’s worth from the other blends. Maybe if I order it continuously, I’d get tired of its taste and switch to another – just as I got tired with my extra milk latte.

  8. Indecisiveness is standing in line for the shop to open, just to mull whether I really like my coffee black.

  9. Indecisiveness is watching you do other people’s coffee, but not saying that what I really want is for you to be here sitting across me. Meanwhile, black coffee swirls in my tongue, and I am itching to tell you what made you like it. I am itching to tell you what made me like it.

  10. I am drinking my nth cup as I watch you fix macchiatos for these group of girls. Your hands stain those pristine white cups from the leftover shots of espresso that you’ve added. I guess, I wouldn’t be sitting here alone- they’d be sharing my space. After all, you wouldn’t want anything else in your coffee. And I don’t think I want any other as well.