I strangely found my pen
scratching against some papers...

I know the sleepless nights are past and so are...
Now you talk to me like you can earn your own...

Dedicated to Uncle Steve Kepros of Iowa, USA
I wish I had Gibran's hand...

They drew the curtains up and fell in line
swayed slowly to the music so old in time...

Sometimes love subtly strikes against dusty...
and the remembrance of the past draws clear...

When your soft lips brush against mine, it's like...
It's a moment that always takes my breath away...

Art is born within the mesmerizing circles
of your dark eyes...

Every poem is precious
because every poem is a delicate flower...

The neuro doc said
Nothing is wrong with my mind...

You are not water,
maybe one day when your bed turns cold...

The lights are heading downtown
where Santa sits in a red chair, smiling...

I remember Christmas with overflowing apples,
butterflies in stomach...