Monthly Archives: January 2013

Lemon in my throat


The black note on your piano,
you touch me now and then,
and lemon in my throat, when I hear
you’re playing her again.
Pushed aside, out of your mind,
to make room for someone new,
suddenly I find myself
second in the queue.
I’m the yellow in your rainbow,
pale against her crimson red.
Feeling blue, knowing you
filled my side of the bed.




You speak so sweet in English
to make me understand you
pausing to find the right words
every now and then.

You even try in Hindi
but it’s almost too perfect,
rehearsed so many times in your head
maybe nine…
maybe ten…

Before your raspberry lips release the sentence
that will linger in the air
for hours
that I will devour and hang on to forever
able to recite back to you, I swear,
at any given time.

How your mouth and your tone change
when they shape sugary sounds in Spanish
so familiar to you and yet so distant to me.
And, with a rush of irony
I think how they bring us together,
(as they have done, and as they do) and always will
if I have it my way:
and then suddenly you don’t say


like a mallet hitting the keys of a glockenspiel
you make a melody which
we both recognize,
for darling, your laugh is the same
in any language.



Feeling like I’m never going to be
at the front of anyone’s mind.
I’m the broken credit card you try
a couple of times
to find it’s still declined.

Desperately seeking affection
in the arms of anyone
who would cross the line.
I’ve left a string of broken hearts
behind me
only to realize they’re all mine.

Humpty Dumpty


It’s broken in two
It’s because of you
Sex and sadness at 1am
Blood rushing so fast
Just recalling the past
Your touch is my Cardizem

I’m thinking of you
Do you think of me too?
In your mind though out of sight.
Fingers wet like a tear
Knowing you’d live in fear
If I were to die tonight.

Please break me in two,
Like I’m asking you to.
I don’t care if it causes me pain.
So, this poor heart
That you’ve broken apart
Can maybe feel whole again.

Matrimonio a Distancia


Llega el domingo (o el lunes si tenemos suerte por una fiesta)
El Momento. Nos persigue desde el viernes,
como una sombra oscura
que, aunque haya bajado el sol, está cada vez más cerca,
Pisando cada risa y acariciando cada sonrisa.
Seguro que piensas, como yo, que hoy, el dolor no será para tanto.
Y esperas en vano, como yo, que el beso no estará lleno de llanto.
Tocar tus labios con los mios me priva,
no me mal interpretes, mi vida.
Pero como la toallita caliente que te dan en el AVE,
el beso pierde su calor enseguida:
Dejándome frío cuando miro para atrás
por última vez en el andén.
La mitad de mi cuerpo suplica a la otra
que de la vuelta cuando subo el tren.
Me dicen que es extraño que no lloro
cada vez que me despido de ti.
Siempre les digo que
ya no tendría más lagrimas si fuese así.

Miss Me


Miss me when you leave me for
The “One” you’re so sure
Will be true to you forever. Please
Think of me. She’s just a tease
Who you’ll soon be sick of chasing
Trust me your heart might be racing
Now. but in a week or two
She’ll do the things you don’t want her to
And I’ll be waiting here to catch you
When you fall out of love with who
You’re going to see.
After me.

So miss me and you’ll soon remember
It’s colder now than sweet September
I’d buy you flowers every day,
I’d do anything to make you stay
With me forever. She won’t care
If you leave her, she wouldn’t dare
Come looking for you. Why’d she bother?
When she can just demolish another
Home – without hesitation
She’ll drown you in pools of deep mortification
So miss me. You can’t see it yet,
But she’ll smoke you like a cigarette,
Then stamp you out into the ground.
Believe me, I know things are bound
To go wrong. It won’t be long
Til you realise you belong
With me, miss me, you’ll soon see
I’ll be waiting here – where you left me.
And when you come back I won’t even ask why
You felt the need to say “goodbye”.

No Tone


Absence allows not actions but words
Love turns not to hate but fear.
Insecurities float on our screens
And all logic disappears.

Words, like tears – clouded by fear
Impossible to reverse,
And words may be words, but like my tears
They seem to be what hurts.

A carpet bomb of frustration:
These words are not even mine.
The result of misinterpretation,
And I’m losing him line by line

Tears on my pillowcase,
My heart bleeds on my bed;
Thinking how the words he wrote
Are different to what he said.