My Face is Leaking

When my face starts to leak,

I expel my quelled troubles

into Kleenex and

at other less convenient times

into the sleeves of my sweatshirt and

the space between my brows

grows two lines that know each other

but have never really met;

still, my heart promptly answers their loneliness

with escalation of oscillation

provoking a competition

between

my vision and my perception

to see which one will be victorious in dominating

the reality of this tender moment.

A Sunday That Isn't, Really

Petals crash onto the marble-tiled floor --
A broken plan made of shattered love.
The color of spring stains the ground
and washing it away would only erase the sting.

When water floods my view
am I watering the blossoms in my chest
or diluting a poisonous concentration
meant for only me to drink?

My dear, we are falling
upside down, so maybe it is flying,
but that doesn't change the fact
that I feel like I'm falling sometimes.

I never thought that the Strokes could make me cry,
but today they did.
Static creeps above the silence
and I breathe to kiss it away.