He reaches from across the table, I cringe

May your astonishing heavy structure and lively ridicule I’ve drawn in the eyes stop from bleeding off my fingers

On a paper that feels as old as papyrus “Who is this?” he asks and echoes my rampant scraping whims

I deny my own creation, a bold reincarnation of you; the one who carved me out of my cynical proposition

Stoicism piety man! We’re all heading the wrong direction!

Until I notice you at your utmost sophistication

I turn into my great great great grandmother at her territorial infraction

Suddenly a primate in me strives to join your costly world of perpetuation

Few seconds involuntary gaze,

The most ancient form of consent,

The healthiest instinct

Boiling from under history long resentments

Showing up from under cocoon like thousand years of layers and covers and paisley patterns

I chose you

And this dated back prior to

When your ancestors set fire on my imperial palaces

Before despondency had in-ordinated my cultural existence

Before I knew enough to blame heartfelt adventures on hormonal imbalance

**It wasn’t even me it was an archaic encryption in my double helices

**Deeper than the pulsing of veins and muscle fibers

A signal produced beneath my frontal cortex carried through my neural circuits

I chose you**

Before the two hard working egos who sat between you and I had earned their degrees

I knew in your cave we could’ve healed our pounded bodies Before I knew anything

Anything regards the foreigner me and the 9 to 5 er you

On top of all the difference, you were agnostic and cool and I wasn’t sure whether or not I’m a mystist

You had earned the luxury of being a winner, an over achiever,

Compared to you I was a basic hunter gatherer, Now just a weaver

You violated my bitter isolation


I chose you before I knew you’ll soon quit anticipation

I don’t need a remedy for over coming the obsession

I’m off to improvements and a doctorate degree and a bunch of introspection I didn’t need

If you hadn’t murdered all of our un-incepted tribal divergence

He reaches from across the table

I shy away with a machine like awkwardness

“Who is this?” he asks

I’m embroidering my loss

This is you, blood coming off my fingers

The paper IS as old as papyrus