The poem two hundred eighty
but the first, to pen down your sunlight...
I want to write so badly,
put pen to paper again...
Once, I knew a stubborn brat
so insistent it was unreal...
A poem is alive
like any being...
Hurry up.
They're here...
Today I got to see the
colors of your sunset...
Me, myself, and I
foreplay inside tangled thoughts...
Her body is sky-scraping tall and voluptuous,
crystals shower her feminine neck as...
You stitched words and paved
lines with your silence. Took one...
I've been studying you,
little girl...
No matter how submissive the night is,
I will originate a succession...
Squeezed me
like an orange...