Your smile,
the white queue of musical tone...

Why
when we grow fangs...

I was really burning for your caressing hands
until I learned you were just a semblance I was...

"You have to burn in order to shine"
_ this was a burning moth susurrating...

Thus,
whispered an hourglass in my ears...

Life is somewhere between the length of hyenas...
and the sweet tweet of nightingales...

Their gifting spirits
live on in their absence...

There is a desert between our lips
that could not be watered...

There are ends to the distances
There are ends to all the roads...

O blooms
my eyes could hardly hold on to you now...

Mirrors shy away when I look at me
I think in me one could never...

To explore the possibilities of words
is not the poet’s due...