11:58 p.m.
sunday eve —
bedroom parlour
***
i asked,
"why are you here?"
but he signaled me
to be quiet. closed
his eyes and a breath
escaped his rosy lips.
his breathing reminded
me of a tune i would
often dance along.
once long ago —
the tune of the
peaceful slumber
of the daughters
and the sons
who slept in
the arms of mother
earth herself.
i was different.
i would stay up late
just to watch the stars
singing. talking from
afar.
i would leap and
catch stars — dreamt
of me sleeping unto
the moon's lap.
how i wished she could
caress my heart and
place an alignment
of broken segment
of astrals on my hair.
because i was never the
daughter of earth to begin
with. i was the daughter
of the moon.
and i still am.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Puisi"you and - me, we traversed at the eve of the colossal pages of our bedroom balcony." - excerpt there is no other dancing partner i would dance with other than you, my sun. you bring me to places that are wiped out of history - to the gardens of rui...
