I write because I read. I read because I write.
my palms can hold your hand at night, i wonder how they reached so many miles, combed some bay andthe west sea, with a floater. i am sure. probably. you have ten fingers butfelt like twenty in a piano. you ticklemy toes and make my heart flutterlike a feather from a cheerful sparrow. mornings. i… Continue reading sparrowed mornings
after Alice Walker and Zora Neale Hurston Blue. Perhaps baby blue. The shade you gift a baby boy in a shower that does not involve a drop of water. But I'm talking about the July sky, here, in my corner of earth, is rarely blue. Mostly grey. The difference was the absence of flying tins.… Continue reading where are the planes
born in the era of wide-legged pantshis limbs - bamboos - his hands - cloudto touch. his eyes,thin eyes, disappearwhen he smiles. he dances, sings without juke, Elton and Michaelcroon inside his heart.no wonder, no wonderhe is my darlingdad. — 18.06.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons… Continue reading darling
means green leavesor wilted ones for roots waiting to be buried in a new soil (after breakingitself in half to tasteone fine sunray). meansthe distance betweentomorrow's to-do list and last night cricket'spillow-in-tears. means some more carbon dioxideexhaled after a brief tripinside your lungs, one breath, and anotheruntil your flesh fingersmelt with the old roots of… Continue reading now
my brain, moresmudge than wrinkled-thinking-machine,eye-to-eye — last week's cold coffee & I — where is the milkin this sugarlessgoodbye. we're lockedbut we're also the key. there is a story withinthese cracks in timid tremble float, afloat.up, up, andaway. — 15.06.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives… Continue reading can you catch me?
my first dhal on our seven-hour train ride— spices still strangers to my soya-sauced-lips. a firework to my palette yet, you were there. with a camera taking notes of each knot on my fore- head, every twitch of my nose. i knew. i need not to glaze myself in honey to be enough for you.… Continue reading Two years taste like
after Anaïs Nin curled.like a tighter "c",too shy to takeits forehead up,for now.risk.from an asleep seedto a pale stem,leaves-armed, waiting.sun.here we come.here wecome. — 09.06.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via The Seeds Master This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. — For dVerse Poetics: Take a risk! Inspired by the germinating chilli… Continue reading Risk
after Sara Bareilles twirl, twirl, twirl,how long have you beentwirling, twirling, twirling?you're a top. their words make your self-worth spin,"fat arms,fat tummy,fat fingers.you don't drink,how come you havebeer belly?" a cocoon you builtaround yourself, beautiful girl. don't trade your marshmallow-softnessfor their starved hips,beautiful girl.they're blinded by your wings, glittered, come,you, oh you,beautiful girl. — 04.06.2021©2021… Continue reading beautiful girl
once we hear the rustlesof plastic bag, the heavy footsteps of my dad tired from a day-long toil, we know it's here. the treat we call Indian mangoes. Kings ofPhilippines summer (inhouses where cheaper varieties were considered best) dressed in grass-greenits flesh more honey than vinegar. if you're luckyat its center you may getyour own… Continue reading my teeth are missing
