Moon in Taurus


when forever did not mean an eternity
be aware that I questioned life in its entirety.
i fixated on my flaws
and had it out with romance.
I became my true self
unreliable, hungry, and flammable.

this is my transcendental prelude,
a reminder to those who may have forgotten.
I am strong, deep, and unwavering.

I may not easily bend to changes,
or adherent to surprises.
I sleep on the same side of the bed every night,
and I stick to my daily rituals.

Fixated and reliable instincts,
I am tied to this world,
all on the strength of emotional stimulation.



soldiers will march, bombs will burst
all for Lady.
Just as she experienced war,
the kind that rings that wild bell in your heart
and shifts your kidneys and spleen.
They will endure.
Cathedrals and Bavarian castles
will erect in honor of her.
They will build new roads, coiled and curved,
to emulate her body.
A fountain will reign in the center of her city.
It would be covered with vines of wild grapes,
foiled along the sides with bronze cobras.
And all the women in town,
especially the ones with calloused hands,
and the ones with the scent of their midnight lovers still lingering
on their necks,
will come there to wash their feet
and dispense their wishes.
The men from lower parts of town
will lay their offerings at their hearth
and ask her to gift them more pleasant years
and more honorable work.
The children will frolic and dance barefooted
on the cobblestone walkways,
singing songs about her.
Even the dogs will howl
and cats will purr
at the sight of a lady in love.





            I loved him,
knowing that he was my madness in the flesh.
When we fucked
I’d take the form of all the fishes in the Sea,
And he’d be the tsunami that would tear me apart.

I can still taste sea-foam on my mouth
Still hear that kinetic funk of his,
ruling the waves.
Even recall days,
I would wait hours before washing off his scent.

                                                 At first, I was terrified.
But it became familiar,
it became the ferocity I needed in my life.
used to be a waning song that echoed in my bones
with a strong staccato and a fluttering sound,
similar to a thousand moth wings.
And I would do anything to shut it up.
But now this song was the most beautiful hymn.

He made that possible.


all code for ego

I choose my love like how i pick mangoes,
I go for the biggest and reddest,
I want the ones with tiny bite marks from the squirrels, even they
couldn’t resist a taste before running off.


I choose my love like I do my hair,
whenever I choose to do so.


I choose my love like the way I browse books in a bookstore,
with my fingers than with my eyes.
I touch each spine and every cover.
I flip and caress the pages, cause I know my hands will never deceive me.


I choose my love like the way the moon changes phases,
so consecutively and with precision.
I will wax and wane for love.
Come out at night
and show this star power
I posses after hours.


I choose my love as I do with a choice of wine.
I go for a structured wine, give it a few years
and it’ll soften up.
A red blend with an acidity that leaves your mouth juicy,
like you bit into an apple,
with a peppery finish.

I choose my love for centuries.
The flesh may not last, but in its place
between body and spirit,
my particular love will transcend ~

‘Angel of the’

an homage to Anne Sexton’s ‘Angel of the Love Affair’

to my unborn

Angel of Water and Doubt

Angel of water and doubt, do you know woes,

that simple deed that forced my hand,

who put me in charge of this combining form, that feigning

blues where I was woman and he was man?

I said, ‘I can act like a lady, but a woman would take some work’

Then I yielded to him and he blessed me.

Embryo, you of wild audacity,

taking me down and loosening my waist,

you are the silence in the middle of the night,

you are the crackling sound like burnt wood in my joints,

taking some iron, taking some calcium, taking some folic acid

and little bits of me altogether.

Angel of Queen-sized beds

Angel of Queen sized beds, do you know fatigue?

Once it took over like a heat wave

as I laid in a sleepless daze,

as pinched at the breast like baby’s cheeks.

Little beads of sweat. One hundred tears in the dark.

Silk sheets smelling of Cabernet Sauvignon and primrose oil,

have everything to do with this night discomfort,

everything to do with guilt and many other outcomes

and all the repents to the Lord, the ultimate judgement.

I have sacrificed sleep.

I have sacrificed eating.

I have known singularity. I have known the waving tassel of freedom

but inside of me waits the spoils of my gallivant.

Angel of Eyes and Choices

Angel of eyes and choices, do you know prayer,

that vigorous drop to the knees and bent arms?

You are remorseful. You have bloodshot eyes.

The feeling in your toes go numb. The only feeling is numbness.

I don’t recall the last time I’ve eaten. And in minutes,

A simple thought comes to my mind.

In this moment I have made a decision.

I have become the thing I judged so harshly,

conceived unexpectedly and had to abort. My body

persistent. Part of me anguished. Part of me complying.

Angels of Choice, you reveal, you ignore, you command

you pull out of me the naivety that was lodged in the back of my throat.

Angel of Bicker and Molasses

Angel of bicker and molasses, do you know hope?

That stickiness of confrontation seeps in the cracks,

that courage subsides to doubt,

that doubt reflects in his actions,

where he was once savior and a sweet remembrance, he is neither.

There is no place in me to pour his judgement and no room for his mother’s prudence.

In time he would see this as necessary.

Your mind may be saying otherwise.

In time he will know the regret in my own heart. Your heart too.

Your life would not be one of conditioning and neither scrutiny.

You will have an altar made for praise. Your birthstone would have

been garnet. Your spirit animal, a blue jay.

Angel of Babies and BlueJays

Angel of babies and blue jays, do you know karma,

those past life doings that streaks our family tree in a ruby-red dust?

You are the low-hanging fruit that the Gods will judge us for.

Let me now, ask the questions we are all afraid to know,

Let me now, pick out the rotten fruits that will not serve us,

as the others are ripen to perfection.

Once I am ready, I will come for them.

Who better to know when it is the right time than me.

She of the magic that is covering, she of the mahogany

woodwork of mothers of mothers who love deeply. She of the bone and dust,

not forgotten.

In due time it will see its day.

Angel of Sage and Wine

Angel of sage and wine, do you know submission?

Six weeks of recovery and wearing all black.

My body feels like my own again. I cut all of my hair.

At a glance I look as if a crisis has taken over me. The house looks the same.

And the cats keep their distance,

as if they know I am not happy.

Once I can breath in and not smell a scent of honeysuckle on the air,

with the exception of drinking the same bottle of wine.

Once I can look at myself in the mirror and recognize this woman staring back,

watching my belly sternly, as I do when I glance at the moon,

for me to move on is for me to mourn.

And so I do,

at the makeshift altar at the window pane. Once I was young and raging,

and now I am deferred, making room for other things to take its place.

Delay: a found poem

after Apis

Neurons to nirvana
serotonin produces in the gut
orgiastic sexuality
pineal gland
a little beacon
the modern guide to everything
on earth–
marking the time of culmination
coming of a renaissance
delay is the deadliest form
of denial