dating gawi

Dapat yung fiction portfolio ang inaatupag ko ngayon e. Pero, ewan ko ba.

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Lunar Cycle

Every woman loves to be served breakfast

in bed. But the moon does not know time.

She knows no break of dawn,

and only has night to accompany her.

After a period of rest, the moon settles herself

on her blinding corona. She prefers silence

while taking delight in sampling the bittersweet feast

the night has to offer. Her moonbeams

search the lands for sumptuous delicacies:

an empty impression on one side of the bed,

dried traces of tears on a throw pillow,

the hot breath from the searching mouths

of lovers, a whore’s kiss violently smeared

on a shirt’s collar, embers

of what used to be a letter, the dust

between two golden rings neatly

tucked in a velvet cushioned box -

no one knows exactly when the feast will stop.

The moon does not know time.

but she can tell if she is already full and satisfied.

Wrapping herself with thin sheets of clouds,

she sleeps. Bit by bit, she buries herself

in the comfort of the darkness. She hides,

leaving a silhoutte showing off her bedcovers,

intricately designed with constellations

and what else we have yet to discover and discern.

The moon does not know time.

But she wakes up in an instant because of a sound

that she believes to have come from her hunger.

There is no way for her to find out that it is only

the repetitive crumpling of paper from a poet’s room.

A room so concealed that she has been unaware of that space,

her moonbeams do not bend enough to be able to reach it.

And as always, she begins the feast

by reclining on her majestic corona.

(October 7, 2009 - edited October 15, 2009)

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