Tungsten

She's a young summer and a bright winter and the breeze that flows between. She's a candy floss will and a molten heart. She's a firefly.

She’s a short burst of hard laughter, the rock lead in a jazz ballad. She has aces in her eyes and a story up her sleeve. She is hard talk and small talk and no talk at all. She's a long night at a packed bar, a short flight next morning. She’s a welcome contradiction.

She’s soft cheer and sure grace. She pulls off a gown and a frown with the easiest of ease. She sways to no music, makes you swoon to her tune, she swings like no one’s watching. She dresses up and dresses down, and stuns you every time. She sports mascara but never a mask. She wears no airs.

She’s the darkest heaven and the brightest hell. She flits through time, without a thing to prove, like warm poetry on a trapeze. She leads firms, and lays terms, and takes what’s coming to her. She runs the show. She runs as deep as still waters go. She should run for president.

She’ll sting you with her honesty and nurse you with her presence. She knows no compulsion and only says what she means. She’ll flood you with answers and still leave you guessing. She walks like a tiger and runs like a child. She's pure fire and raw rain, her mind holds no regret. She’s the flicker of the filament of a bright yellow bulb. She is tungsten.

Come

Come. Come from your bright yellow lights and half-remembered nights.
Come from the emptiness that fills your window sill as you struggle
for a frame of thought that will keep you still. Come from a long day’s work,
from a hard day’s work, from all work and no play, from all work and no pay.
Come from no work at all.

Come from the dream you had last night, from the hopes
you’ve carried through sleep. Come from heartache, heartbreak, from a place
where you’ve given more than you can take. Come from being cared for
and having none. Come from sunshine, and red wine in glasses that never run dry.
Come from laughter and abandon and recklessness and surrender.
Come from rebellion.

Come from your intimidations, from your fears, from the worldly wisdom
you can’t unlearn. Come from hate and passion and pride and misgiving.
Come from a difference of opinion. Come from your relationships, your upbringing,
your scratchy beginnings and patchy acquaintances. Come from your expectations,
from birthdays and surprises, from red ribbons and pink lace, from long hours
in front of the mirror, from a few words and many faces.

Come from the roads you've left behind, from dark alleys and white corridors.
from burnt pages and broken bridges. Come from a full life, from a life well fought,
from contention, from little joys in little things, from big smiles for little reason.
Come from the TV shows, from late-night cinema, the smell of snow,
that song in your head that won’t let go. Come from history, from the renaissance,
from the countries you've seen and the events you will.

Come from the daily news, that book you must to get back to,
your boardroom scribbles, the attention you can’t afford to spare, the coffee
you sip by the sidewalk as it rains, those pretty shoes you never wear.
Come from birds in the trees and kittens and ketchup and lakes and rainbows
and orchids and bicycles and architecture and every romance you acquire
as you flit through routine. Come from your photographs of birds in the trees
and kittens and ketchup and lakes and rainbows and orchids and bicycles
and architecture and every romance you acquire as you flit through routine.

Come from the things you are, the things you do. Come from yourself, from company.
Come from a moment ago. Come from thin air. Come. Let us walk.

Taxi

I can't be certain you'll come by anytime soon.
If you're already here, I'm sure you're pleasantly surprised.

It's been a while, nearly a year, since this place had any visitors.
It isn't that I haven't thought of talking to you here. I guess I just haven't been able
to let the thought carry. So, tonight, a few minutes after getting off the phone with you,
here I am, talking to you once more.

While 'Jiyein Kyun' plays away in the background, my mind travels through the city you're in. Through winding roads and pockets of midnight traffic, it settles down
on a street, around the corner from where you live. I'm there now,
an unassuming silhouette of complexity. A light flashes, a cab's approaching.
I wave, it stops, I settle in. I ask the driver to take me where the night will.
He obliges and turns on the meter.

The yellow of the streets soothes and blinds. I pore into the blur like an infant
on a carousel. The mind wanders. It's funny how you were, a few minutes ago,
where I am. Your scent hasn't escaped into the thick air. I close my eyes
to let it sink in. I place you next to me as the car paces on. You're looking out
the window. Strangely enough, you're on the left tonight. Your eyes soak in the breeze created by the moving car. The light plays with your hair while a few stray locks flutter.
You're lost in a trance only you understand. A passing car brings you back momentarily. You turn to direct the driver. Your lips halt halfway, your eyes fix themselves on me. The awe of it all grips you for three seconds before a faint smile tinkers in. 'What are you doing here?', your eyes murmur. An extended blink is reply enough. You giggle, then return the gesture. I nod, look away, then look back at you.
I close my eyes once more, slowly, while my lips cleave the breadth of my face.
The darkness is an eternity.

The car brakes, my eyes open, you're gone. I blink twice, and a fifth time,
but I can't bring you back. Tucked away in bed, a word that reminds you
of me trickles through your head. I bask in the realization.
The night's still young and the journey's far from over.
I ask the driver if I can smoke. He's feeling generous. I throw my head back
and watch fumes waltz about the tip of my nose. I lean out the window to taste
the humidity, it isn't a night for the sane.

Back in my seat, I close my eyes, hoping to find you asking me for a light
when I open them again.