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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.

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Thursday, March 19, 2009

entry arrow2:52 PM | Love Poem



I could -- if I could -- take your hand
and put it against my chest,
to tell you without the noise of words
how much I hate you.

But you know, of course, how my eyes dip
when I lie.
They are now the color of the stars asleep.

Sometimes, just sometimes,
and often on Thursday nights
when there is so much of time
receding and renewing,
the weekend ahead a threat:
we begin failing in
our grasp of new certainties --
that the sun sets in the east,
that the flower blooms under the moon,
that it is easy to forget and let go --
all things easy and steadfast like stone,
the way bright lies keep a kingdom
of happiness. And want.

My heart beat does not spell anything.
It does not even know the scarlet hum
that is the universe singing.
There is only a tinge of a sound,
something small and secret,
that only your ears could hear.
Or your hands --
if your hands can only be
where it should be,
even in the midst of all these beautiful lies
we have learned to believe.
Or fall like the dimming stars.

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