table of elements and wedding vows

Marriage. Marriage is a pair of destined hands clap not, cannot, without the other one— no song needed to taste one’s tears; no spice to smell one’s burning sun. Marriage. Marriage is all the sonnets William Shakespeare (welcomed and farewelled in Church of the Holy Trinity, just for your information for marriage will not make

counting poems before and after him

thousand poems have i written ‘fore fate allowed me to meet him, oh, how in hush heart- beats, low key hums, dearness draws near me towards him, oh, how my shy muse sings hymns, so sweetly since i knew him, oh, how rhymes roll off in rivulets, thousands and more poems now for him. —

soft arms and midnight crumbs

soft arms of dawn sneaks in between half-closed bedroom blinds, (wake up, wake up) infant sunshine sweeps leftover crumbs of late stars’ snack, (come back, come back) i sat, unmoving, inside the swaying boat of an ended dream, (wishing, wishing) our sheet isn’t empty of you. — 01.29.2020 ©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

wish come true

You are asking why I haven’t been writing lately about love, well, it’s because you do not utter a wish every night once you can already hold it with your bare hands. So why I haven’t been writing about love it’s because I already have you. r. c. gonzales – roy | page 138 of

newton’s apple

Like how an innocent a p p l e birthed Newton’s law of gravity, your child-like smile, my love, freed the caged lover inside me, effortlessly. r. c. gonzales – roy | page 99 of Poems for S — Sharing with you some excerpts of my poetry book, Poems for S! Kindle and paperback available

weightless earth

where flood goes beyond murky dirt, transforms into the lightness of a sea’s cerulean hands guiding transparent streams, where lighthouses mark the arrival on a safer place to land, free of clawing ghosts of the past’s unstitched seams, where guns burst life instead of endings, rescuing preys from predators, away from disturb mind’s cruel schemes,

for you: a zejel*

To you, who will hold my dear heart with its hidden, broken sharp parts, for you, dear, I write this word art. Love’s a known sea I did explore. Yes, I have loved some hims before. Yet I know for us it’ll be much more. Let’s wait until our story starts. For now, let me

postal code stamps

Our tongues are dancing muscles sprinkled with the magic dust of languages, as if before birth we’re treated on a buffet of diverse dialects and accents where we select how our mouths will circle and arch to utter each twisted word’s lyrical march, but pause and place your vein-hand in the middle of your breasts,

in seven stanzas

i There are two not singing Asian koehls dancing to the tune of April drizzle, playing with brown, and a bit smaller mynahs. ii The plane above looked c     r      a     w      l     i     n      g , ever so s l o w l y ,

midnight wish

open palms, wet with salt of sweat and tears, reach out outside as glass pane’s fog clears, like a yearning new branch of a house-caged vine bending, sneaking, reaching out for sun, these palms, brined with my excreted liquids stretch out to feel the breath of the cold December wind, wishing this same midnight breeze