Hey you!

Hey you! Are you having fun, or is the fun having you? You're tired of the old, are you fond of the new? When it's late at night and you turn out the light, is it still alright, do you still remember what to do? Oh I miss those times, I really do. Hey, you! Do you still long for a fu-wong, yearn for a mouth full of taste? Delight is too precious to waste. Call me. I want to eat some more tofu with you. I really really do.

posted from Bloggeroid

She's my (prose poem for Valentine 2012)

She's my familiar pleasure, my discovered treasure, my depth-plumbed measure of what it means to be a man. Long-limbed, lithe and lively, she is lovely to let me stir the cream with the cocoa. We share what we know, grow to be sure of what we can, plan and cook and hatch fast and slow in the slack lane of love. Ambassador me, envoy she, we meet in the shadow-lanes behind the cafes of passion. The steam erupts from our thousand cups. And we never order lonely plates of chips.

posted from Bloggeroid

There's no cure (be careful)

Be careful. There's no cure, no antidote, no forwarding address, for love. Be careful. How many hearts do you want to break? She has no money but still buys you chocolates; she has no dreams but dreams of you. Be careful. You are the song in her heart, in her mind, in her soul. You are every love song she hears on the radio. You are even the milk in her fridge. You think that's a joke? How many hearts do you want to break? Yours? There are no winners, no losers, only future children standing naked on the bridge; only cats and dogs howling in the sun and rain and every night the wind comes with the sound of pain every time you lie alone. And by your side, like a pill or a gun, lies the phone, asking you to call, always asking for you to call. Be careful. The pill and the gun can truly end it all. Do you really want to mix it, have those red red kisses throbbing for you in the dark? Do you really want to send all those smileys, or go online to book a face and upload that picture of you in the park? Be careful. There's no cure, no antidote, no forwarding address, for love. It's a dangerous game to call for a name. Late at night, when the wind comes moaning in the empty silence between two lonely heartbeats, and there's nowhere to run, be careful.