Between the swaying palms,
moon was moving...

Being you,
not the bee queen...

When you take a false
lead, life will undo the seeds...

Every night you become
an insect, crawl into...

Becoming gold diggers,
the myths, without...

Sexist barbs against
wooden breasts, street-smart...

You will find one day,
water footprints, when...

Will not put any claim.
Neonate my poem...

No final goodbye. No poetic
apology. No introduction...

After the sunset,
the moon comes out whitewashed...

In a pair, they were flying:
two monarch butterflies...

It was a basic instinct.
You wanted to become something...