The poems I write you—packs of wolves through streets and forests prowling, hungering for my skin.
In the end, we remain a river that only the ocean of love can ever dissolve.
How else would the dawn break if its light did not spill from the hidden beauty of her face?
The dawn sky, your realm, and my poetry, an offering, each dawn, as a bowl of flowers, placed before your shining door.
I feel your presence
and the life from my veins
shoots out in fiery arrows,
comets furrowing through my skin
the wildness of your poetry
then darting out seeking you,
fraught with my kernel and essence
and eager, upon touching you,
to dissolve in your embrace.
a snake hissing through my skin,
etching into every cell
her burning venom,
sex and poetry.
She walks and all the stars around her fall like snowflakes in the wind.
Eternity—the only garden that can ever enclose our touching hearts.