Your tired eyes still glow.
They remind me of dandelions...

8:00 PM
only lives...

Midway the slope
where two clandestine faults seem to collide...

A one-man band
has sketched poetry through his music...

The soft brown color of your eyes
burn in every word...

An Azalea
softly sings a song...

You cannot
reap Sampaguitas...

The falling dark red leaves of Autumn
were a dream constructed by a shipwright...

He was a curator
who speaks softly about...

Who am I
to keep believing...

Ne'er saw I, never felt,
the sun did more gracefully...

Sitting across each other
on the jeepney...