May we change in the twilight, traumatized
from witnessing our shadows perish before our eyes.
Like our glaring silhouettes against the setting sun
fade into the penumbra, even feelings lose glamour
in the darkness. You used to say you were enveloped
by each sound that was dragged out between my lips,
but you were careful enough to save your personal
magic beneath your eyelids.

May we change by the moonlight, just like the beach
seems more beautiful when the water’s highlighted by
the primed satellite. You always carried a paintbrush and a palette
with different shades of blue, because you knew that,
by the end of the day, you would’ve found a motif
to color your skin in gloom.

May we change in the pitch, as we’re groping about
in our bedroom, trying to make our way through
wandering, unquiet furniture.
Crouching on the corner like two photophobic beasts,
gazing at the lamp with a poor man’s night vision,
as if the all-seeing eye of all deities of dead beliefs
is judging our fooling humane uncertainties.

May we change by the dawn, as our decomposed bodies
are reconstructed anew, like two strangers awakened
by the thick filth heavy in the bedroom’s microsystem,
in an hour ruled by regretful pauses and oversympathetic remarks.
As skin heals, blue paint dries inveterate
in the messy, wrinkled sheets.

May we change with the sunrise, as our toasts’ crusts
cool down and harden in the veranda
and cream floats on our mugs with dairy milk
because we got lost in not recognizing our faces
on our last night’s self-portraits.
this isn't quite clicking with me yet. i will come back and re-read it a few more times and see what i can offer. on first glance, it seems a bit long; perhaps this is exaggerated by the repetition of 'may we' at the beginning of every stanza. perhaps some variety could help move this along.

i'll be back.