Obeisance

I have cheated several times
In this game of life
by chanting your name passionately
In the historic valley of my soul -
the echoes of which
could easily be heard along
The banks of my blood.

Forgetting is the only way
I'll die.

Or not.

Ritual

I tuck the verses of your hair
Carefully behind the metaphor of ears.
I organise your eyebrows
With the pen of my thumbs.
I arrange your fallen eyelashes
Like commas in a text.

For
In the morning
Your face looks like an unedited poem.

Yet another Year

She celebrates
major love events
According to the Gregorian calendar.

While I -
a disciple of the lunar one -
Wait for her face to rise
To the occasion.

Our events rarely match.