I miss your footsteps in the hallway.
Arriving home from work at 6, always.
You would always forget to wipe your feet.
Leaving a trail of dirty footprints for me.
...
I can only offer you a poets passion.
In the most dignified fashion.
Creative torment and lack of understanding from anyone.
Are two frequent attributes of mine.
...
this heart knows pain,
as frequent as rain,
and harsh as snow,
wherever, whatever the weather,
...
Find in my words a friend for yourself.
In times or triumph or dispair,
your friend will always be here,
with only the words to care,
...
Beloved sister,
Deep in thought you always are.
Believing your below the clouds.
When you're a star.
...
I did not complain when my toes succumbed to numbness.
I did not complain when the bitter wind threw itself against me.
I did not complain when the thick mud ruined the flares of my jeans.
...
I spend seconds alone,
Throwing smiles, giving waves.
I spend minutes alone,
Engaging in conversations.
...
Never make love like you have before,
Never be afraid to taste danger,
And take turns to mop the floor.
...
Why are poets so sad?
Why are the writers sticking feelings
in things that don't matter at all.
...
You taught me to run with scissors.
I broke all the rules under the influence.
We always knew it was going to end badly.
Still I persisted to defy all regulations.
...