You stroke the spine
of my iceberg...

Colors dripped on the surface
like goosebumps on tender skin...

Burn my soul in silence;
watch me glint...

I write
to deaden the traffic...

We were effervescent and young
before stagnancy took over...

Can one emerge so bold
from a fragile cocoon...

Carved into me like I was of stone
thousand folds of faults and corrections...

If I could wish for a poem
that could make you sob...

I have found
God...

I allow you to bruise me
like an abstract painting...

It was a clear morning outside the yellow kitchen
when the grey weather foreboded mischief...

Gasping cautiously
yet not everyone survived...