underneath the shyness
you hide your unkempt hair.
sometimes it looks like a paintbrush,
black paint smeared all over and nowhere to go.
sometimes it makes a great tsunami
ends pointing this way and that way.
sway gently, sway in tempo to your footsteps
and even the lung-generated clouds look like art
and accentuate your silhouette of a face.
you're the smeared dream i wake up to
and the distant snoring i listen to before
slipping under the deep slumber
of your eyes like nightmares.
mannequins start to look like you, breathing,
i only meant to hallucinate you.
but you are mirages to my desert;
am i thirsty for your desire?
and when i look up, you are there
like hieroglyphics in the sky
with undeciphered meanings.
and amidst the decoding process
i forget you are human.
i could believe more a fable
than what you are.
it's like that pivotal moment, hollywood,
when the climax is barely reached.
and you stand there, handsome in your silence
and desirable in your imperfection.
(c) 2004 mai kozai
silence is also music. {11:37 PM}
the poet
mai sharona.
december 5, 1984.
davis, california.
a sucker for flowers.
