Love,
She says to write it will lose me points...

I thought it was complacency
Stole my passion for the dramatic...

My typewriter is my instrument.
Hear me banging furiously...

Leapt forth into the burning flames
The steed ripped in his reigns...

Then your pupils grazed
across my face...

Persecutory. The infliction which
alters a state of reason into madness...

Grief, an unwelcome guest,
arrives unannounced, heavy-footed...

Once I was a black jungle cat
lounging with chin on paw...

In Spring, I plucked thee,
and heard the wet snap of twigs...

You were there
when I gazed upon that tree...

When you hear your name slip sweetly from her...
Dripping in beads of nectar, her azucar...

It was a long and hard December
From the rooftops, I remember...