jessamine you bow
even as you break.
I could pick you now
or later,
depending on the sun.

your arms creep over the fence
of our neighbour's home.
I could see where your smiles
had taken root.

jessamine you promise
sleep without dreams
a small dose for large sighs
a handful for thoughts.

how will I touch you:
test with two fingers
or by tugging at a fistful
of your hair?

how will I taste you:
full on my tongue
or by nibbles at the edges
of your feet?

my fruit of knowledge
in a garden of thorns
I should like to take you
into the kitchen
and bake you whole
into my lunch.

all parts of you are potent;
so it is said.
you are more ravenous
than the curse of a full moon
although
you aren't nearly as wild.

jessamine my salvation
rests on whether you bloom
where I've sown. or will you,
curse your sweet name,
spoil like dreams in the sun?

Note: Yellow Jessamine is a poisonous shrub. NOTHING else :P Yuck to kimp for even suggesting *gasp* pedophilia!


Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng

I fear not the least
but the lukewarm
and the whole.
Bread on the counter,
a full moon, a stop, a kiss,
three sighs in the span of
five minutes. I fear not
your smile but the joy
I will find lacking, or not.

We see three children in the street,
unclothed, unabashed, unclean
and you take my hand, saying,
"That will never be us,"
I nod to myself, knowing you mean
those words with pride. I mean
to make them a ward. I fear,
you see: that will never be us,
us like children's laughter.

My mouth runs away from me in horror.
My legs keep me still.
Here is a wreck of a body
trembling in an aftermath.
There is so much to fear.
You are so much to fear.
I wish three times for succor;
puddles are steel sheets on the ground.

When we are old we will shout
to each other across the strait
and love each other through
binoculars.

Is this
this
this
life, lukewarm and whole?


Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng

Happy Anniversary

Today I swore I'd forge a path anew

because it's our anniversary,

and anniversaries are meant to celebrate

momentous occasions.

It started out as a decision to build my life with you

which due to life's enigmatic twists and turns

truly happened and truly didn't.

We dreamed of different things,

I see it more clearly now.

You, of having a family and

I, of going against the grain.

But here we are,

me, beat up by the odds

and you, well,

probably still dreaming of a family

you'll have one day

that will now be possible

because of the steps you've taken

these past months.

Because it's our anniversary,

I walked when I should have taken the bus.

I dwelt with the cold when I should have taken refuge in warmth.

I had my hair chopped off, for I was looking for a change.

I raise my glass and drink to our good health,

and our futures that grow further apart from each other

with each passing day.

Happy anniversary darling,

here's hoping a couple more shots

will finally help me forget about you.

When all this is over
I look forward to starting my life anew
When all this is over
I already know what I’d want to do

I’d start with a job, perhaps
And log in long hours.
I’d work day and night if I have to.
But maybe I should start with driver’s ed
And work on the long laborious process
Of getting an actual license
Then get a car, no matter how rundown
As long as the engine is good and it runs
I can live with that.

I’d probably start looking for a place to live too.
Somewhere quiet, where I can
spend my evenings in peace,
take leisurely walks around the district
when the mood strikes me so,
where I can lay out in the open
and stare aimlessly at the clear night skies
for hours on end.

But all that’s a fantasy of course.
As long as I’m in this,
None of that would be possible.
So long as I’m in this,
I’m just going to have to keep on dreaming.
Otherwise, I’d run the risk
Of sinking further, deeper,
In this quagmire of illusions.

If you think about me sometimes, say it.

If you dream of me in your sleep, say it.

If you want to be with me, say it.

If you miss me when we're apart, say it.

If you’re confused like I am, say it.

If you feel good when we’re together, say it.

If you think you love me, say it.

If you care for me like I do for you, say it.

If you feel that I’m such a nag, say it.

If you want to get rid of me, say it.

If you feel that I’m a little too much, say it.

If you want me to walk away, say it.

If you don’t love me, say it.

Everything that’s in your mind

and heart and body and soul, say it.

No matter how terrible or painful it may seem, say it.

As long as it’s the truth, just say it.

Otherwise, don’t say anything at all.

Maria glanced about the dimly-lit room. Almost every person in attendance was too occupied with themselves to actually appreciate what was going on around them. Careful not to meet anyone’s gaze in particular, she noticed that most patrons were either engaged in light-hearted conversation, eyeing the room for potential dance partners (or if you will, unwilling preys) or simply guzzling their preferred libations. She, however, had come out tonight with the sole purpose of watching.

She had never really felt as compelled to come out and watch people dance as she did before. To be honest, there was a certain amount of sinfulness that pervaded her being whenever she came out to watch people dance the salsa. Not that it really was sinful, just the idea of a simple indulgence that brought her some sort of inexplicable pleasure. It was not so much the beauty of salseros and salseras in attendance, nor was it the generally delightful flavor of people in clubs like this. She almost felt guilty, watching people move about the dance floor, executing steps that don’t seem rehearsed or routine but rather flow quite naturally from wherever it is that it comes from. It didn’t matter that she did not speak nor understand a word of Spanish, though sometimes it may have proven helpful whenever the DJ would say things in between songs. The songs were in Spanish, too. But that only made some songs seem more romantic than they probably were. After coming in for almost six months, she already had her favorite salsa songs. But that wasn’t it either. Perhaps it was how everything came into play, the dimly-lit room, the beautiful Spanish songs, the rhythmic beating of the clave and the graceful and awe-inspiring movement of people, that made watching all the more satisfying.

Though sometimes, it seems difficult to get a moment’s peace since someone would walk up from time to time and ask her to dance. When she wasn’t in the mood, she would turn them down. But most of the time, she would dance a song or two with them. She counted herself as a beginner but by now knew which songs were great to dance along with and which ones she had to avoid. She had also come to know by a person’s movements if he was a good lead or not. It always came down to the element of control. It was, for the most part, the man’s job to do the leading in these dances. A dance was considered good if the man could do a decent job of leading his partner through the series of routines and steps he had in his head, and then some. For sometimes, the ladies would be feisty little things and had a secret or two up their sleeves as well. It was how well the gents managed to work that into their little routines that determined to Maria’s eyes, if they were worthy enough to be watched or not.

Nothing made her heart race faster than finding a suitable couple to watch. She could tell from the easy movement of their limbs and the seemingly uncontrolled liquid movements that never went too far or came too short, the easy flow of steps from one point to another, the look of sheer enjoyment on their faces, and perhaps even the glimmer of happiness that glowed warmly within her as she watched. Only watched, nothing more.

And tonight was no different from other nights. Not realizing that she had been holding her breath, she sighed deeply and settled further into her seat as the night wore on.

Dedicated to a porn star on hiatus :)

Someone is screaming under my window
but not for me. You are
on the other side of the world,
Breaking down. Losing your skin,
Scarring on the inside, fading
on the outside, blogging yourself
hoarse. Yes, I understand.

You used to be porcelain. You used to be
Marble cool to touch. You were their
Sweet sexy goddess. You were my
Silent night, a stretch of road unbroken.
Your one bedroom is an endless el nino
And you are parched. Yes, I understand.

But do not run down with the sweat
Pooling at your feet, yet.
Do not cry yourself into monochrome, yet.
The concrete has cracked under the heat
But do not fall in just yet. Dance,
Play the courtesan to the Devil,
Hold on to his horns until they bend
And his blood cools on your face.

Be my silent night. Be my winding road.
Be porcelain, be marble, be glass.
Be scarred. Be scorched. Be graceful.
Be a voice that screams for pleasure
Against all the rage out there.
Be sweet, be sexy, be divine,
Be flesh, be bone. Recreate,Phoenix,
be the ashes and the flames,
I think you understand.


Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng