the words that I wish
to write elude me
like the chilly airy night winds
that cannot be clasped
...
Never believe a poet when
he begins to sing;
like the songful birds on
tree tops at break of break of day
...
Each passing day like
a courier, comes with
picturesque souvenirs
of the past; with bitter-sweet
...
Your mystic euphonious voice
In the surreal-like labyrinth
Of my mind; resonate, with
The reverberating cadence
...
would you let me write you
a serenade, lovey?
a sensational heartsong
about the mushy things
...
let me take you on a date
to Paris, lovey
at heart and in panoramic metaphors
...