Inhale

Here come the floods, princess,
Leave everything behind.
You never really created, only captured
and pieced together like baby's fingers grasping.

I breathe, and I am in awe.
I hear the rise and I fall.
These are days of beauty,
so full, like walks in the rain.

What kind of love are these roses?
The only promise you try to suffocate.
I want your thorns broken
and your petals, wet.

Soak just a little while
in a stranger's smile and gaze.
While I search for ways
for us, to last, a little, longer.

- Daryl Goh

Come Closer

the sky is whistling purity,
washed with rain.
coat the city in blinding white,
cascading from the heavens.
my prayers rise to meet them;
fierce, and just as wet.

my love, i am a drowning man.

fingertips
reach up, for you are the surface
i wish to break. so i breathe,

and i sing a simple tune
bubbling up to you.

a pretty face, picture perfect.
we tangle

like roots grappling for sustenance
entwined, like new found lovers
afraid if we held loosely
would be swept away.

if you discover loneliness
one fine day

just slow down, my love, slow down
know you are too young for this.
i, with breath kissed into me
propose, come closer.


Come closer.


- Daryl Goh 

Beauty Only In The Beholder's Eye

The light flickers and I look up to see if the bulb in my room is failing. But it glows constant and moody. The flashes happen again. They come from outside. I look out the window but I see nothing. It is strange that my windows fog up from the inside. I wipe the moisture to look out and I get a glimpse of the city skyline but grey. The cold night air rushes to kiss my face when I slide the windows open. The clouds drift into my room, surrounding me. The fragrance of wet fog and the scattering of the city lights summons nostalgia.

I know you. 

I whisper to the massive, shimmering veil of grey. The recognition turning to disdain as if it were an old friend bearing bad news. But I cannot remain cross for long. I am seduced by the way it wraps around me, by its scent; like a long lost love. I breathe deeply.

The rain sounds like a standing ovation. The buildings in the distance, the congregation. Jagged lines of light appear like they were drawn by infants connecting the stars. The sky lights up and I imagine God staring down at us, taking bad photographs; pushing back darkness long enough to capture the beauty only in the Beholder's Eye.