Warning:
A long, personal poem...
Dancing sparkles shimmer on its undulating...
whilst gulls bob gently up and down...
What a hug-less night!
what infectious cruelty...
Before the game of gamble, starts
it is already paid for...
You first came across her
at the Amtrak station in Waterloo...
I shower at the darkest hour,
processing grief from old memories...
I held my dog to the bed
last night when...
Where everything is versified to be uttered
and sublime is not external and pretended...
…
and we tire of the echoes of exhaustion...
In twenty days, I'll
turn twenty five. Twenty five...
You go from a corner
to another, as my eyes watch...
True, writing poems
doesn't mean I'm a poet...