Those delicate eyes
catch the light, glinting
'cross this fickle sword,
my evasive desire

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

I wish to see you do
Happy  poetry
Like you used to

I hold you ever so close, to hear your heartbeat
against the hollow that is my own.

With the shutters closed and your eyes bright
in the darkness that encloses us securely,
I tell you in a whisper about my first heartbreak.

How did it go? you ask and stroke my hip;
I was a flower, I tell her, and my lover left me unwatered
to the extent that my once-pink blossoms became gray,
and the head drooped as if pinned down—

Her hand stops on my knee.
So,
why did you keep loving her?

—Because, even as I withered, I kept staring at the sky,
memorizing every drop of rain that fell, hoping it would shower.

You don’t fear love now?

I pull her in, warm against my chest, my aphrodite.
No, my love, for when I found you, it was like an April storm.

Of all the ways
I’ve watched the world
Fail to take flight

The worst is my own