I swallowed a well,
full of ink...

I'm still searching for truth
in old answers...

Perhaps it was the way your words
nuzzled themselves...

Isn't it like me,
to throw caution in the air...

Please, don't leer at me
with those well acquainted lines...

Your words have spun like cobwebs
in the dusky niche of my heart...

If sorrow is sunless
then I'm after midnight...

Your tongue
suspiciously...

My heart, a slope
of steep apprehension...

I mourn for the butterflies,
their departure was sudden...

I've been stealing secrets
from this little conch...

His shadow won't leave me
it trots like a wild pony...