He was blessed with
a wicked sense of humour...

as I read your letters-
your words...

..where shadows of the moon,
shimmer in the breeze. The lake...

Drenched in seduction it
Emulates the...

Domicile digs within a concrete shell
of a pallid place where I used to dwell...

I walked slowly across
your bed made of soft grains of sand...

If I could be carried upon the air
twirling and flying, and wave at the moon...

Disparate visions, dwell in my mind.
Reels of metaphysical images...

There isn't anything, more amazing as
when you come across, a cherished poem...

Peddling my pedestal of potty poetry
I feel flamboyant, and carefree...

I
never know what...

I talk to you-
about how the moon turns...