Finding Mr. Paperman

I'm searching for

notorious Mr. Paperman.

I'm in possession of a message

to be delivered forthwith.

Mr. Paperman 

who traveled places in the wind, 

who lived in drawers, pockets and jewelry boxes,

whose best friends are named 2H and 6B.

Mr. Paperman

who is beautiful beyond the surface, 

who does not fear getting old and yellow,

whose pet peeve is people who do not finish sentences.

Mr. Paperman

who is a one-of-a-kind sheet,

who can't sleep because of a coffee stain addiction,

whose heart lies between his lines.

Mr. Paperman

who is scared of giant erasers,

who is fond of getting tickled by paintbrushes, 

whose most honest passion is the sea.

Mr. Paperman 

who fought a war against an army of mechanical pencils,

who has got folding marks,

whose childhood dream was to be a paper plane.

Mr. Paperman! My dear sir,

what a difficult man to find!

I bring you a heartfelt message

from My Lady Kensington:

T, I am goofy and emotional

I have the silliest of eyes.

I am random and oftentimes confusing,

will you help me read you right?

Burn the message

You leave my life much before 

I can learn your smell.

You borrow 

someone else's metaphor

to buy me an excuse

instead of a smile

to buy me distance

instead of  coffee.

You leave before we can
make memories.

I stand alone.

(Read part 1: Kill the Messenger)

Arguing the uniqueness of man by regarding the treachery of images

He dreams of a poet in the crowd
whose face resembles mine

a vast, heartening smile that
matches big pensive eyes

he scans her for words
determined to find out for how long

they linger on her lips.

he doesn't know

I find it difficult
to be around people

to speak my words point-blank
to refrain my eyes from the violent blue.

I am not the poet.

If I had no fear

A series of jumps
into the unknown.

Have a one-night stand.
Morir in a mojito glass.

Get a peek into my own mind.
A conversation with my ghosts.

Learn to fly
as well as to fall.

Tell my love to your face
and allow the passing of days

to erase you from my path.

Strangers

I could be one of the lit windows
in your neighborhood.

Late night, when you
listened to the noisy city streets

tentatively searching
for a familiar soul,

I would watch your silhouette
framed on the side of a building

long enough to invent a story
which explained your presence

and hope we could meet again
in sleeplessness.

(To the stranger who's been watching my exercise on existing closely for long hours this week)