what is hair

what is hair
but mere follicles
we grow atop our heads?

how can something threadlike
take up much space
in the mind
and mirrors of many?

what is hair
but mere expense,
when out of vanity,
it needs to be shed?

really, what is hair,
that it should carry
such abundant weight
in our thoughts?

what is hair
that i should take delight
when you said
you liked the way
i have recently cut it?

why should it matter
that you’ve said as much
in the language
of your heart?

oh honey, why should it
matter heaps to me now
only because you’ve taken
the time
to admire
my otherwise unimportant,
messy mane?

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elusive, elusive, elusive

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i like the way elusive
rolls around the mouth,
smooth against the tongue.
one can say it over and over again
and it only intensifies the desire.

it has that distinct taste
of a childhood mint
until now one cannot find
in any other.
how come the same candy
can taste so different
then and now?

it is near, almost in sight
like the distant horizon
beyond the waves,
that visible, imaginary space
where no one has ever been.

it is a hollow echo
in a domed arena.
from all sides.
the sweet notes
vibrating from nowhere in particular.

it smells of petrichor,
that unmistakable union
of earth and rain
that makes one unsure
of either wanting the heat
of the noonday sun
or the damp coolness after a downpour.

it mimics the painting
one have always felt
like one can recreate,
only falling disappointed
after mixing colors
and failing to harmonize
the right tints and hues.

i like the way elusive
rolls around the mouth,
smooth against the tongue.
i say it over and over again –
elusive, elusive, elusive –
and it only intensifies the desire.

elusive reminds me of you
and all the days we’ve said:
coffee, coffee, coffee.

the java i can have any time,
in any way i want,
but the sapor of being with you
i cannot recreate.

are you in some horizon,
where your voice is a hollow echo?
“soon, soon, soon,”
you’d always say.

i’m never quite sure
if i am frustrated or excited
by the idea of your presence,
where i cannot harmonize
the many disappointments
i’ve had at receiving
“can’t, can’t, can’t”.

you are for me
that rolling and smooth lexeme
that i say over and over again
with your name.
you are elusive, elusive, elusive,
and that only intensifies the desire
of seeing you.

for jb

my thoughts are always best expressed in verses

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my thoughts are always best expressed in verses,
and you are the lines
that make them up.

your name is never scribbled across the page,
but you are there in the kerning,
the sensible spaces in between.

you are the punctuation marks,
the pauses and the stops,
the stresses in my ideas.

don’t you ever get frustrated
that i have exploited your memories
into fragments of ellipsied affection?

i am guilty of making you my poetry,
of enveloping you in metaphors
and keeping you close to my heart.

out of the trickles of us,
i have spawned an infinite stream
of feels pooling into poems.

i have always wondered
if you have ever read me
and guessed that i was about you.

tell me if you have,
because if you haven’t guessed yet,
i’ll phrase my poems in equations instead.

for JE