Why
when we grow fangs...

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

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...

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

Thus,
whispered an hourglass in my ears...

Their gifting spirits
live on in their absence...

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

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

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

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

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