Could you for a while cuddle this little bug,
this hug- less kitten in the cold
this mess in distress?
Could you hug who he is this lost,
nude like a woman in her morning dress
all dressed and wrapped
in her faithfulness?
Could you hold this palpitating heart,
this flame falling apart,
this faint worm of warmth,
tending to vanish,
crawling and melting in its coughing flares,
on the candles of these eyes
thawing away
tear by tear?
Could you let me feel your warmth?
Could you harbor me in your arms?
Could you shield me from the kerfs of these harms,
regardless of who and where
I would be
or how open my gashes are,
in the bottommost of this bottomless sea,
seeing them
over yonder
reflection on my cup
when gulping
my jasmine tea?
Could you wake me up
in the compass of this coffee cup
from Kafka 's nightmares of estrangement?
Could you tell me that I haven't mutated
to a bug unplugged from your hug,
crawling on the walls and ceiling
of my rooms?
Could you tell me that I
metamorphosed instead,
to a glorious insect
and transmuted
to a beautiful butterfly,
in the Dorian Gray's black eye
that apes
it's face of hideousness
in his picture
on the canvas in his place?
Could you tell them
that even I am so unsightly to their eyes,
the defacement and disgrace,
is not mine,
it is their own deeds scrawling their portrait
to ogre,
that in their head
projects contrarily,
like seeing sun encircling the earth instead?
It is almost dawn,
could you tell to these shortcoming necks,
now that the night is about gone,
the crepuscle blood
could no longer hold indrawn,
and nobody any longer
could elude
seeing the ugly duckling
has always been,
a glorious
swan?
