Pieces of Moonbeams

CXLII: short strips of words from august

"i always love
to write your name."

--

everything that is beautiful burns.

--

"there is still plenty
of love left in this world.

--

there are so plenty of
things to label,
things to call,
things to love upon,
but your name
was my favorite
to label, to call,
to love upon
without being mine."

--

burst of thunderclap
zig-zags of light into the air
slicing the white clouds

--

in twilight's sphere
as the sun fondles the stars
forming the universe

--

the light-azure sky
thunders pierce on the clouds
screeching sound so loud

--

at night's existence—
flower's pressed in white veil
stealing the beauty.

--

i love to be alive
at the present.

--

you aren't living
in my mind anymore

--

why do you
always make me bleed?

--

we love the brightest star existing:
but let's not forget those stars
that are dimly lit.

they shine too.

--

i always brood thinking about loving you,
in uncertainties, in moments
i can't picture with you.
ahh, my fondness is growing ineffable—
no beauty nor ugliness of things
could define why do i love you, always.

--

and suddenly,
the world seems kinder than usual.

--

my wounds are not visible
but it really hurts

--

you didn't know
that i had died
and died and died and died
and i'm still here

--

don't you love me
when i am gone?

--

we coddiwomple upon
petas floating in the breeze—
bringing me back to you.

--

i want to meet you to that exact point
where the pale skies become translucent,
fading and fadings, blending and blending,
being evanescent into the open sky.
i hope you could be there.

--

i love to look at the curves of your upper lip
when i face you side-view.
along with your soft shadows
in a part where i couldn't see you.

--

in between loving and despising,
i am in between

--

von, pieces from august
2023