Love Bird

You flutter away from my hands

Our disentanglement is what follows

Your Ovum smells especially fertile today

An ancient jug in an opportunistic thrift store

The old wood varnish

And cosmic webs

It’s summer

The blue of a past life

And I’m waiting to be flooded with outrageous fortune

You wear my cum better than a tank top

And I’m searching for that perfect spot between your blatant thighs

To land perfectly

With orgasmic precision

An orange peel wasted

A combination of words that describe the feeling:

“I’m experiencing an Inconvenient Catalytic Exteriorization Phenomenon”

If I could rub your lips I can hear your pain

You tumble down the stairs

And I’ve lost faith in my unconsciousness

And that small, pink bird with green breast flies away

Always elusive to my charms.

© A.R. Minhas 2018

Blackholes

I’m sailing a ship in space,

Because I want to be left alone.

Everyone told me I will drown in the moon.

 

And I’m ok with that.

 

As long as I can have my smoke on that secret porch,

As long as I can feel the sweet comfort of a dark chocolate cake that was left over,

I sometimes imagine your blood is its icing.

I’m colonizing the stars,

Repopulating them with your memories.

At the bottom of the ocean

Pressure conforms—cracking skulls

The sound of opening a can of coke

“Come share with me,”

I’m spilling purple flowers everywhere

Can you imagine a gesture of love drifting alone in space?

 

So peaceful.

At the bottom of the ocean.

Living in Atlantis.

Imaginary like heaven,

All the pain disappears.

Like a memory of that light that was there once,

Like a memory of oxygen…

Everything fades to zero-calories of nothingness.

 

My lungs grow heavy with sulfates

Why don’t you just die here?

“This is a good spot,”

The black hole is right above my head.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

Show Me Your Eyes

 

Your eyes meet mine while you eat

A Red Velvet Cheesecake

Teeth crackle

And I feel your lips

Cold tongues and warm breath

 

“Show me your eye, and I’ll show you mine.”

My hand travels underneath the table to meet your thighs

No one will know

And you laugh that laugh when we first met

 

You know the type of girls I like

The ones who present a new way of thinking

Perhaps, if I drew you naked

I could understand

What you present to me

 

The randomness of your hair

And when you try so hard to maintain a straight face

While you are grabbing

Your breasts

I need cream for my coffee

 

The structure of your abdomen

Slopes to the slit of your eye

 

Clitoris of your soul

You gush my favorite dopamine sundae

Dripping like chocolate molten

These fingers know how to move

I know you have to go

It’s ok

 

I’ll deal with my trust issues later

And I’ll text you when you get back

 

For now, I have to go

Keep your eye on me, always.

 

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

My Way

I have realized now what my problem is

I thought I could swallow this world

I thought I could listen to the thud

 

The bang

Noise of the world

And I can finally think for myself

 

A sea of difference

I can’t survive without being aggressive

To be violent

Hypocritical

See those red in the eyes

And get what I want

Free from the burden of proof

 

Do it my way            somehow

‘My Way’ was written by someone else

On my way to a taxi ride

I made up a story

People who make up stories are deeply disturbed

Proof of existence because I create the winds

 

Ley-lines, Flexion creases, Chemtrails

Cigarette butts

Stars

 

All point me to you

 

Paul Anka wrote ‘My Way’

And I want to be Frank Sinatra.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

I Don’t Send My Heart On Adventures Anymore

I lie on a bed made of ash

          My body rests precariously

 Acupuncture

          Cigarette butts

                             Nicotine gently sways

                           Into ether

                                               I’m immune to your charms

And claims of love

Please sell insurance somewhere else

Premiums are high and I’m unworthy to get your coverage.

          Breasts like deployed airbags

                          Sometimes accidents are a good thing

 

If it’s Cherry red then I’m sold

But not too far

                   The elevator opens on the far end

                             And my erection will hold the door open for you

 

And I’m pressing the button down

Don’t you dare sneak in

I’m told my cologne is poisonous

 

I’ll reach you before you can

But this is not the time

Or the spatial reality to consider such matters

I’m not looking for adventure

And my heart is weak

                   It wants its own company

                   It deserves its own company

                                      Sole-proprietorship

And Unlimited liability

 

My heart has grown tired of adventure

                   It just wants to watch TV

                   Eat unhealthy                        And derive pleasure from pixelated

                                                                Barbie dolls

 

And abnormal quantities of

Jack and coke.

I don’t mind being sick as long as my heart isn’t affected.

          This is the love

I exude out

And my lips have forgotten how to interpret your name.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

 

Pretend that I don’t even exist.

There was a death recently

And what do you care about life?

Actually, there were two

Both of them water-related.

Think bloated green stomachs.

Just another individual among the millions departed.

And here I am

Existing

And what’s the point of asking how I am? Huh?

It’s not like you care what I say

You cut me off mid-sentence and never pick up what I have left off.

And have the audacity to call me secretive?

I don’t share with people who can’t suffer through my loneliness.

If you’re insensitive, I’m much worse.

But yesterday you reminded me why I hate people.

Yesterday you took the cake.

And blew all the candles to leave that wax burning.

My skin like wrapping paper. I want to tear it open.

I need to return it back, whatever it is you call life.

I never asked for this and it has become a burden ever since.

I’m tired of being ignored

Passed over

Broke

Depressed, sometimes not all the time.

Loneliness is my chosen comfort.

Most of all I need distance from you.

If you can’t stand me. It’s ok. I won’t be so close to you either.

To hear is to obey

But if you pretend again that we are something.

 

I won’t be writing poetry about you. And I’ll say something very unbecoming.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017