Origami Moonlight: Collected Love Poems of Paul Hina 2009-2012
chorus of confusion as heart
strings unravelled all around me,
and i can imagine your fingers reaching
for my fingers,
your face—your stilted sweetness of breath—
hovering near my face, feeling the faint
praise of my trembling like fall's last leaf
27
she is a stunning shine
in the sunlight,
waiting for me,
holding my arrival
in the mouth
of her smile
like a snowdrop
or a birdsong,
and her kisses
plant daisies
on my tongue
like a remembered spring
—somewhere younger
than now,
somewhere small and
secretly private
where we can intertwine
our bodies
without a care
for the conniving clouds
28
the femininity drips from her legs
like the sweetest honey, and she knows
she is desired,
and so she folds her body up
into these tiny packages of feigned fragility—
blond hair lounging down her neck,
legs crossed near the knee,
ankle swiveling with an easiness only
a woman knows,
and he imagines her thighs opening like
a gift, bows wrapped around the flesh on
each side, pulling at the teeth of winter's
contempt
29
her dark eyes envelop me with their sharpness,
the edges dive and turn and are subtly exotic
— almost asian—
and her black hair is like wet feathers of dark
water floating down her flesh like echoes of
other birds shimmering from within, emanating
from her inherited grace,
and her smile holds firmly behind her face
—a tangle of tacit joy— waiting to emerge like
flowers hiding beneath the cold winter soil,
barely suppressing her booms of blooms
30
she won't remember the way she used
to twist her face,
the way she used to carry flowers in
her hands("just because")
and she won't remember the power of her
femininity
as the years pass and she forgets more
and more of these things—
things that keep us young and hungry for
kisses—and she will
eventually
lose her grace,
her fragility will grow, and she'll become a
desert of a woman,
not remembering the birds or their songs,
not wanting to hold a cup of rain in her
hands("just because")
anymore
31
her quizzes of eyes
twist and turn around me,
her hands travel nervously
over pages of books
feeling for pretenders
of love,
she stretches her tender fingers
across the poems that play
in her imagination
as she shushes
out all the conversation
and just listens
to the songs her mind makes
when her thoughts
are naked with me,
and her hands hold
every piece of the poems
that never hesitate,
always tasting the fruit
of each ripe word,
letting each thick drop drip
down our shivers of skin
32
the trees are bursting and breathing,
popping with color and promise,
and the sun peeks in
and then hides
like some sleepy child—
splashes the daytime darknesses
with sundrops of earth
and these days
—these great drinks of newest life—
make memories uncrack in the heart,
and these cracks show smiles,
sun drenched legs
stretching out in the sun,
her hands painting my naked arm
with goosebumps and fingers,
her lips, a whisper across my face,
her eyes, a stream rolling over my body,
and what's left is the blooms
of something once forgotten,
but never quite gone
33
she spins in a whirlwind
of her own smile,
pressing a clenched fist
to her breast,
a kiss hiding in her hand,
a bloom to carry for the day,
a delicate reminder of why
her gut twirls and flies
at the very thought of his face,
why her heart soars
at the mere thought
of his voice
saying her name,
and when she whispers for him,
tears come to her eyes
and the blur colors the world
with the technicolor brush
of falling in love
under the perfect shadow
of spring's canopy
34
she startles the scene
by putting a flower in her
hair,
a big, white Billie Holiday
flower that soothes the soul
with slippery fingers,
and she holds my heart with her
healing hands, massages fantasies
of songs where dew drops emanate
from the kisses on her lips
—fully in bloom
35
she's tall and lovely when she walks,
and the moonlight on her shoulders runs
down her arms with a sleepy blue glow
that'll light my way through future
dreams,
and i'll hold those drowsy dwindles of
her moony world in my hands during
the lushest days of life,
and even when struggling through the
darkest depths, that light will wash over
me with seas of the subtlest blue foam,
and she will be my smile, my laugh,
my voice,
and the hope of her kiss will rest in the
palm of my hand, fishing for fingers,
looking for her silver light to jump
over my black waters with sparks of
moonlit rain
36
i travel the course of you again,
looking for new lines to travel
with nerves of fingers, with hope
in my hands, quivers on my lips,
waiting to find you under the surface
of these miles of memory, shuffling
through the paper of old days, trying
to catch echoes of your voice, the
texture of your hair, the scent of your
skin
(and there is something like the stutter
of spring rain, hesitating over the water
long enough to lick the light off the squirms
of sun on the sea, a subtle second of pure
joy in the arms of the warmest reason to
fall,
to leap for you)
37
the sweet, sticky smell of spring
stains her skin, and the tulips of her
cheeks surely taste like april's
dampest secrets,
but i'll never know the cool color of
her kiss, or the sound my mind might
make if her hair hung over my face,
whispering water,
and i'll never feel the weight of her
body baptizing my bones with the
grace of the rain her fingers make as
they dance over my face and shoulders,
making sparks as the showers shake
away her petals, crack open the candy
shine of her form to let her lovely
snowdrops make wishes on my flesh
38
she is a shell of a memory,
an echo of a song
stretched so thin
its lyrics are muffles,
and her touches are fades of tingles,
her kisses close,
yet tangled
by the tired tendrils of time,
but her face is still
a stain on my heart,
and her hair is a hush that blows
across my fingers from time to time,
bringing with it her wind,
her breath washing over me
like love's last lyric
singing streams through my dreams
—the dance of the water,
the subtle stillness on the trees—
and the peace within
is what waits for her,
wakes up all the whimsy
in the wisps of my sleep
39
the way she moves is a flicker
across the window of the mind,
a sway i still catch shadows of
when i'm drifting into the sea
of sleep,
and the dance of her hips, those lazy
lines lounging into legs can easily
still wrap themselves around my body,
but the lights of dreams just aren't
bright enough to clarify her,
and her moonlight is only the melody
over a dream, a song that soars when
kisses are as spinningly delirious as
counting the stars from the tornado
of her dizzy, distant tendernesses
40
i've been waiting to hear your
voice again, stuck on a single
sound i've held, skipping like
some old record, a song i want
to play until i can memorize the
sweet noise of its layers, its lilts
and its hums, until it paints its
color on my heart,
i want to touch you with knowing
hands, travel those beautiful slopes
and bumps of your body with fingers
sensitive to learning,
i want to feel your breath teach me
what's right and what's wrong when
we meet to play at night, bathed in
moons, spinning with the stars on our
sexual stutters of somewhere songs
41
the lace
curls around her chest
like some lovely,
resting animal,
and she runs her fingers
across its edge,
bites her lip
and he knows no softness
like the snow
that lies atop her skin,
written in lace,
and the air around her
is better than
the silent breath
of the stars she's left
on my lips
from her cunning crush
of slushy kisses
42
i'll bet she's dancing today,
in the rain,
watching flowers from wish's window,
making mischief in the clouds,
contriving love songs from the skitters
of a storm,
washing her mind in the memory
of my most remember-me-kiss,
and there are as many mysteries
written on her