A mid-phase moon
is a sand machine...

My soul is so tempered and tamed
in that temple of a little bloom...

Beneath a flower
is a vase, is a flower garden...

From the bottles of the forworn memories
that on the counter I amass...

They border us to make us fight.
When we are separated...

Is it a wander that I don't feel anything but...
I wonder...

If I were tears
I would paint rainbow...

A kiss hit me like a clout
and I instantly forgot my own whereabout...

The adamantine intent of a warrior
is...

In absolute darkness I saw you
like a shining object...

They all are gone
but their souls...

Come on baby what are you doing to me, thus to us?
I am a person not a commodity that you can replace...