Why
when we grow fangs...

Your smile,
the white queue of musical tone...

I was really burning for your caressing hands
until I learned you were just a semblance I was...

Life is somewhere between the length of hyenas...
and the sweet tweet of nightingales...

Thus,
whispered an hourglass in my ears...

"You have to burn in order to shine"
_ this was a burning moth susurrating...

Mirrors shy away when I look at me
I think in me one could never...

Their gifting spirits
live on in their absence...

To explore the possibilities of words
is not the poet’s due...

There are ends to the distances
There are ends to all the roads...

They pet wolves like lambs
out of cowardice, and then...

There is a desert between our lips
that could not be watered...