On the way I was
happy to meet green valley. Your eyes
were sparkling. Words had no meaning.
...
I was in trouble, learning
Ars Poetica. I am writing for the beach
where the moon meets the lake.
...
Gathering the mist from
your eyes, if a kiss would speak.
You belong to the world of curves.
...
It was my last blood.
The silence speaks when you would not cry.
You are learning from yourself objectively.
...
Unnamed, tragedy of a
burning path. You go for a post
human activity. Angels were going wild.
...
Pardon my poems.
Becoming you I get the pain, raising
the blues. I ask who was the son of god?
...
We are ending in the
hands of love hunters. Salt and
water will not make any ocean.
...
Shall we meet in the
last chapter of the book, where after the
struggle two bodies had become one?
...
Like night- blooming cereus,
you wake up, shattering the empty glass.
In your quiescence, the world would not care.
...
Like in gendering of flowers
a splendid thing was love poems.
The dummy had become second I.
...