The Reason I Live, The Reason I Write

The Soft Brown color
of your eyes
will always be
the reason I live.

To write
my purest poem ever
is what
a Fifty-five-minute
Jeepney ride
has taught me.

It is about
Cherry Apples
and how
they look cute
when you eat them.

Cherry Apples
do not stain
my poetry.
(But they stained
my palms
with stains
which I somewhat
find harbouring
the color that
I cannot
live without.)

A Fifty-five-minute
Jeepney ride
made me
write dreams-
the kind
that can be kept
in a glass jar
but never
in your eyes.

The only dreams
that I need
are those that
I can write
beneath your eyes.
So I would rather
take a walk
than take
that very same
Jeepney ride again.

The Soft Brown color
of your eyes
(Not the
Fifty-five-minute
Jeepney ride
nor those
Cherry Apples)
will always be
the reason I write.