death in the afternoon

I associate you with tea –
the kind you are offered on the streets of Dharamshala as you make your way through the valley trying to find the lost pieces of your soul.

That shy crooked smile
that finds its way
on to your lips
is another way to define
my favorite kind of Spring afternoon,
and the laughing children
on the playground
remind me of the childhood
you and I never got to have.

You are impatient
and more often lose yourself
in piano concertos,
rather than in conversation
with another being.

You walk with a dazed look in your eyes,
carrying the heart of a puppy
longing for affection.

You are beautiful.

You have always had this soft demeanour,
that you carry like that old coin
in your back pocket.
You were never a morning person,
and neither am I,
but on those rare days
when my eyes catch a glimpse
of that early morning sky;
I cannot help but think of your innocence,
and how you held that grey cardigan
so tightly as you walked by
because it reminded you of your Grandmother.

My typewriter keeps accumulating dust,
and I am trying to remember
when was the last time your Grandfather wrote to you.
It’s been a while since you last called
to recite his letters word by word.

I’ve noticed that family
means a lot to you
in the way you speak to your Brother,
and I want you to know
that you are beautiful.

You purse your lips,
and your eyes get big
when you try to make me laugh.
Your high pitched voice makes me sure
if you could sing you would be a Soprano –
the voice of an angel.

You despise Bach and watch Skins all day.
Goddamn,
you are beautiful.
You’re gullible and it’s endearing
to see how hatred cannot touch you.

You,
you are light.

If I could go anywhere in the world with you,
it would be to Japan.
If I could build anything in the world for you,
it would be an art gallery
full of this magical alternate reality
wherein I imagine you and I
spend our days together
lying on the wet grass
in comfortable silence
as we observe the universe
constantly expanding.

I told you I don’t write for people,
and here I am doing just that for you
because you,
well you are beautiful.

I was a wreck and you took me for lunch,
we stuffed ourselves in sugar
and joked about Death as if it were a friend.

You see,
we’re the same side of a coin;
and the first time I took a photograph with you,
I told you that you are the apple to my pie.

I associate you with French,
and the way you glowed in the sunlight
the first time you fooled me.

Your soft hands on my shoulder
give me the comfort I need
and keep me from breaking down
on my worst days.
You carry this maternal warmth
inside of you,
and my god you are beautiful.

You crawled out of the sea
straight into my arms,
a lily disguised in human form;
and I?
Well, I love you.
I love you as much as I love being alone and that makes all the difference.