In that cafe I penned my poems
pinned a living butterfly of my heart...

Hi
I am a single father...

Butterflies ensnared
in the crayon box beneath...

How much hating them,
would impale us to turn...

It is so harsh and
unmusical for we can't...

One needs to reflect
into the others to get...

You cannot help yourself
being beautiful...

Truth is relative.
Trust is cosmetic...

The observer and the observee are the same
but we cannot observe that at once...

In the night all the
inks of the world can not shield...

The painted flower on the vase
perched on the ledge said...

Beauty and youth
have no choice...