Young Poet

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Day Off

How fruitless I have toiled these sullen hours.
The only art I know is servitude-
To Labor, and in exchange of my time
Procure what we possess: this morning bread,

Letting Go

Oh how many more of those stars above
Shall I witness expiring like our love:
Coffee cups, your left slipper, notes and comb,
These restless visions of your summer tomb.


The days slipped by; the months morphed into years.
And between two continents-missing you
And moving on, the untamed ocean bears
Your memory. There's nothing I can do

Love Cocoon

We were breathless
as one scent, a union
in the fiery darkness
where our souls feast.

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