She cries
fields of daisies...

Dreams
are falling...

There's this flame
that burns deep inside of thee...

I wish the sky would sprinkle
her morning dew...

I have all this love;
here, in the palm of my hand...

I'm afraid I will always be
a piece of debris...

It is not my fault
you see, this heart...

Sometimes I prefer
the shady fissures...

Scribbling...

Why not love me
for errant reasons, dear...

Yesterday,
...............you called me pretty...

If love were a star;
I'd wish it to...