Smiling teardrops shower
on our bare hazel skin...

They're not the beautiful voices of mythology
who trap sailors with sweet cadences, no...

When does sainthood become the foundation from...
Surely there is not always a didactic harpist...

No one would ever compose a song for me
because who notices what I feel...

Her body is tied, twisted- her backbone
tightly woven around...

Scenery from my door
begs in high quality accents...

We sit in silent pews,
inhaling twilight hours...

I imagined leaving peacefully,
the way a tree bows down in...

There is a door
disconnected...

Half past midnight,
and one moment I was lying sleepily on my bed...

Holding the pillow with barely
any force from my fingertips...

I have picked fruits of the finest love
for a man who I may never meet...