Nosidam Elegies: The Final Elegy (A Dream)

Final (A Dream) 

Watching.

So you're in a coffee shop
and humanity passes by.
You're busy reading
what? Philosophy? Literature?
Mathematics, more precisely.
Did they sum up that boy
who walked into view
stumbled and dusted himself off
to offer some roses to you?
Maybe, you think
doors are better than sets
Sets can be open, or closed
or both, or neither
or a little bit of either
but you like the options
and you choose not to choose.

Watching.

He was not so much bothered
by the brashness of his indecency
but more so the lack of reaction
it was still there
the one he never had but couldn't replace.
Fair-skinned ghosts still so real
he is scared to touch them once again.

Watching.

It was not the psychosis of her presence
or the drunken revelry of his heartbeat
but the tea latte
full of sweetened bitterness
and ice that numbed the lips
frozen passion, a moment
ice freezing burning fire.
We stare at empty pools of unrevealing irises
impatient, nervous boredom
are we scared we are not interested?

Watching.

Distant planets
Our stares must travel light-years
to pierce the naked soul
that effulgent, rises
the crisis of a newborn universe
supernovas, dancing lights
an outer space Casanova
makes you slip and slide
into alien emotions
you breathe and feel never
how can you breathe
or feel
in this vacuum?

Watching.

I looked up and saw
an orange moon
fill the night sky
and told my friends.

One replied
"It was also orange last night.
Is it waxing
or waning?"
I replied
"Waning, not waxing."

Another said
"Too bad
I'm too lazy to check"
Sadly, I forgot to say anything.

She said
"Good for orange lovers!"
and moved on to other things.

I looked up and saw
a pale sun
fill the night sky
and sat in silence.
I saw it try to hold on
to outlast the dusk
to rise against the sunset
to escape the twilight.
Why?
Maybe to see
the sleep of mortals
the onset of the dewdrop
the flight of moths
the stars.

I wondered
is orange a color? Or the pallor
that tried to hold on
to hopes, to dreams
to dreams that night could only bring when closing your eyes
and concealing a kiss
would make it less real?

It was an orange moon
and I cried
for the sun that died.

Nosidam Elegies: The Seventh Elegy

7 

She was light: she rose
above the weight of adult conversation,
the fruits of nonsense talk
ripened nightly, the buzz of flies
humming in the backdrop of a starlit sky.
Maybe the stars themselves
whispered incoherent mumblings
to their slumbering lover, enveloped in deep sleep.

She was light: she ascended,
drifting, a petal in the wind
from who knows where
drifting, our words formed senselessly
leading us closer together to this nonsense
a sense of who you are and who I am
who we are and what you said
What I said and what we never heard.
We were grounded. Our senses betrayed us.

She was light: she flew,
streaking, the vespers of light
blinding to the eye, blinded as I was
to the convenience of holding on
to the ghosts of contrivance, thinking
that drifted together we were bound
by something more than a common vector
pointing in the same direction. That maybe
we can fly together.

Heaviness. Life, light as a feather
but here, all feathers fall down eventually.
She opposed it. Heaviness
to be bound, to be wrapped in the flesh
your own or another
to be intact, to be known
to yourself and another. To decompose
sublimate into a reality she ran from
better a ghost, than to be known.
She was light: she rose, she ascended, she flew
a shooting star, swallowed by the atmosphere
in the wretched cavalcade of fireworks she deemed prettier than loving.