In your eyes,
I see a lakeside bungalow
with roofs in vibrant indigo:
Poled on it,
is a flimsy antenna of loneliness
bending to the breeze of summer;
Poled on it,
is a sturdy pink flag of I Am Yours Republic
displaying bravado even to the eyes of storm.
They stand still
side-by-side
amid the deepening of night.
They keep space
to honor their differences
until aurora comes to light.

In your eyes,
I see two hearts chasing each other in a very green field,
Finally,
they’re cheek-to-cheek
when the red horizons appear.
They walk above Hanauma Bay;
They dive to the depths
of Spitting Caves.

In your eyes,
I see me in REM,
in bed of tulips and daisies.
Above,
is a vivid rainbow
half across the bluish sky,
Whilst playful trade winds
are molesting
my white skirt:
No, they don’t intend
to share our heaven-
I bet.
Just like you
they’re just teasing themselves-
I guess.

Recommended Song:

In Your Eyes
by George Benson

In each kiss of waves to the shore;

In every caress of winds to the leaves;

In each devouring of morning dews to the meadows;

In every catch-me-if-you-can moments of clouds and my eyes;

In every bird that flies;

In every flower that blooms;

In every tree basks in the morning sun;

In every waltzing star;

Each closing of my lids;

Each throbbing of my heart;

Each sigh;

Each breath:

I see and always will

Be seeing you.

The very essence
of a woman,
is to carry life
in her womb;
And to be
in the arms of . . .

. . . a man,
who
loves and cherishes her
as his priceless
treasure.

. . . a man,
who
is confident enough
to bring out
the best woman
in her.

. . . a man
who
is strong enough
to embrace her
not just as a lover,
but as his soul-mate
and lifetime partner.

. . . a man
who
is brave enough
to hold her hand
and look into her eyes,
and say,
“You complete me.”

Related Post:

The Very Essence of a Man

The ants suicided;

they overdosed themselves with sugar;

their bloods thickened;

and they expired

from complicated diabetes and aneurysm.

Mourning, I brokedown and contemplated on the whys;

I was unsure

if my tears were for aching,

or I missed the ants-

‘coz they were with us in pink-painting the town.

Perhaps just like him–

they don’t understand what hanging on is all about.

They can’t wait ’til I cross the Mississippi River

to be with him, and assure him,

I was with him in all of our hopes and dreams. . .

. . . twice upon a time.

YouTube/Moon River/Cellos

Gone are the days 

I was lost in the woods.

Here, 

I am me

Without having to worry

If the moon is full

And packs would attack me 

out of lunacy.

Here,

I am at peace

To gaze at the deep purple sky above

While the stars go scarce or array.

Here,

I am loved 

Like how my sour cream smelling Pillow-Willy 

Have embraced me since infancy.

Here,

in your arms,

I can be a baby, crazy, 

witch, bitch,

fatso, cold,

broke, old, 

and not sorry.. . . .

. . . For baby

You’re my home. . . .

. . . and your arms

are forever 

my sanctuary.

Life is an economist that requires trade-offs;

ever requiring us to give up something for the sake of another;

ever demanding us to consider the costs and benefits of the choices we make;

ever instilling rationality;

ever imposing equality;

ever upholding standards;

ever securing purpose.

A diehard crusader of meaning,

. . . always rallying for vision;

always arguing for continuum;

always vigilant of opportunities;

always passionate in resolving scarcity of ways and means.

. . . ultimately ensuring we are giving our best; our very all

to our endeavors;

to our aspirations;

to our hope and dreams; even

to friendship and love

we build and keep.

I love you.