All my desires, my longing
to reach inside you...

You call my poems ancient,
yet read them as if they breathe...

Through the lenses of my tears
I turn on my eyes lucent chandelier...

When one cannot write
It is not writers block...

The tail of a dog
diving into the water...

Purple dragonfly
resting on a yellow bloom...

The sore of aloneness intensified,
melting en masse...

The yoyo was fetching
with the pupil of my eyes...

Our expanding
only circles to reflect in the given radius...

Two is a good number
Because you are not lonely at least...

They were stone
before they found divinity within...