order of the day

there are days,
I remember tossing out
of that side broken window. 
I can't recall the contents of those days.
I have gone out numerous times
to pick up those days, 
however, someone else has taken them-
maybe reused after dusting.

"now that window is mended
I want the days back in their proper place"

don't be shocked, I can handle power tools!!

meticulously you use those power tools
along with you, those makes me drool
I want to handle those
you are adamant that I shouldn't
I haven't told you that I can work with tools
saw precisely, and drill neat holes
I know I fabricated about being a petite female
but with my knowledge of power saws
I am anything but that

"peculiar you might think but it is normal for me,
power screw-drivers give me a big high"

ignition point

I ask you
where is the fire?
you say look around
it is in the air that surrounds you-
in the intimacy of two of us
we hold it in the palm of our joined hands.

when these words touch me
I feel a slow burn on my skin
knowing fire is not for away.

" I am burned before I reach the ignition point"

ghost of a rose

blemishes you see behind that visage
are not all mine
I rubbed those out of the camera
how I did that I can't say
that picture is a messenger
but you won't understand it
can you enhance that flaw
a characteristic embedded in me?

you are out of that frame
I am in it now, right in front
a ghostly facade enhanced by lights 

misty dew

I touch the dewdrops
close my eyes tight
wish for those to surround me

I taste my fingers
each dewdrop tastes like elixir
I collect some in my palm

sprinkle those on that window
watching droplets scatter
on that window in a pattern

I slowly rub the dewdrop on you. 
when it penetrates your skin
you swiftly turn towards me 

rose misted droplets on that glass
covers your curved back
while you cover me with you

percolating into me

I sort through my closet
find you hidden in my clothes
I wear you on me
your scent is like an epidemic
which percolates into me

I give you hood of my emotions

who took march away from me?

march left me in a lurch
suppose it was in a hurry to go
to exit 181, 1/2 mile ahead.
to usher in the harsh summer

the april sun hits out at me.
painfully, I carry it on myself
a tempest in the making-
burning my skin in the process

loud march should have stayed
if the compass had not let it stray
maybe it needed my persuasive power
which I needed to use.

"riches of the disappearing months,
I try to collect in my palm-
waiting for you to pluck it from there"