Singing Sonnets With the People of Paper

The walls here are paper thin 
neighbours can hear my heart stopping 
as I unbutton her papier mache dress, 
bleeding paper cuts over two manuscripts 

There is a moment in origami fold 
where the soul resembles a plane 
in turbulence, stalled, black box recorder 
signals each dream adrift on runways 

Alone, naked, in the night’s margin 
parchment preachers lay Sanskrit shores 
on that part of the beach where tides never reach 

The streetlights /as lighthouses/ stand erect 
teasing footsteps of lonely walkers. 
Paper moon falls like kites grasping for breeze, 
shower bodies  
with confetti 
and we’ll call it kissing in snow 

Let’s build a home from poetry 
bricks and mortar mere veil and verbs, 
my metaphor hands trace first folio 
flesh to the full.stop of every page 

From parallel doors to ceiling 
and staircase in between, 
are these angles you dare to tread? 

They built reservoirs and named them oceans,
even full fathom shopping carts and rusty bicycles,
rising from surface above her, I get the bends 

Sunken, her wet pulped hair of pearls and seaweed 
stretch from my shoulder to navel, living  
ghosts within poltergeist of novellas 
just dim the lights to blue and amber 

Burn my cemeteries down 
engulf me 
drown me 
let me forget that today is already a grave, 

flame is the sonnet which made  
Shakespeare yearn on twitter and Instagram, 
turn paper roses to the 
blood drawn from necks, 
all that blooms will be sensual 
as sleep-soaked negligee travelling up her spine 

We are the last of the paper people 
holding still inside papyrus breaths 
and our librarian will always remain silent