You won't rest next to my eyes
when I rouse with tomorrow...

I feel like a sad yellow,
that's dressing the moon...

This is a grief poem, about someone who died in...

Alas, it's sadness
which within I sail...

"You aren't on the same stage",
he said, thinking of me with...

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

My heart heavily beats, like the days of December
Reminiscing warm rays amid the sky of September...

Have I embraced all
the flaws that perfectly...

You're made of seeds, of soil and stone,
you're of life, of flowers- from flesh to bone...

Cool breeze wheel and dive
making it through dawn again...

I'm immersed by my own flow,
set within the blond view...

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