a melancholy #1

when you open your front door
and behind that door
you find yourself standing
and asking for a shelter from the rain
or snow.

and instead you’re offering a glass of water
and a handkerchief.

and then you close that door
and go back to the living room.

then you get on the couch
to watch a weather report
in the loop.

and the angel of death
is sitting next to you
sipping a herbal tea
from a blue porcelain cup with the gold trim
and a matching saucer.

eternal #22

a precious stone
in enclosed ignorance,
is hidden behind the husk.

an ember,
without a chance to burn,
is quietly smoldering.

a daydream about someone
who will appreciate
the unpolished panes
of a gem.

panes that cut deep,
yet the blood from the wound
has the same taste as a blood
from a bitten lip.

withering wither
don’t lament your purity
or quest for an essence of love.

it is your pick to wake up
with the bland taste in the mouth
or with the taste of blood
on a bitten lip.