You've been eating away
at my conscience for a decade...
Golden cells of honeycomb
that tastes sweetly on your lips...
Every poem is precious
because every poem is a delicate flower...
I was never able to breathe
when I was with you...
it is just an empty page calling me
and poetry is born from this mistake...
Tossing, turning,
hard to sleep...
It's been six years, one month
and fourteen days since the last...
He is my hope
who keeps my path alight...
Quieten your mind
Silence your voice...
cursive is the best way to describe my pen
because only the quaint wish to read...
I like drinking types of coffee
some that even taste like toffee...
If tomorrow comes Poetry
like she did today...