Words. they fail

me

from A’s to Z’s to

R

to J

I yearn to bespeak but

more of bespoken to.

futile. pricking like

thorns and fumigating

the Grey with flashes 

of nostalgic fantasias

thus leaving me unvarying; or not so.

deep in the thickets of the mind,

there are longings of

beings where dead airs

crack the sky, engulfing it

in a blaze of fluorescence,

where quietude are blanket 

forts in which we frolic; white cotton

bedsheets in which we enfold

embrace, unletting go.

come zip our mouths close and watch fire

flowers bloom

as smokes of ecstasy sway us

in flame. passion

I long for you.

Copyright © Imana Gunawan