Flowers and fruits have
seasons; You too? I wonder
what scent you would lose.

Another name that is not mine
you mention in a prayer.
Another voice that is not mine
makes your body shiver.
Another smile that is not mine
brings back the child in you, a dreamer.
It feels like sword. Like cyanide acid. Like fire.
Typical, typical destroyer.

The air tastes like apple. Like God's anger.
And, somehow, somehow, it hurts.

I do a lot of
bad solos at stage corner
so you won't notice.

Poetry's there to touch.
But, touching without consent
is bad, isn't it?

I love what people
tell me, because I am too
dull to see what's shown.

I told you purple
was my favorite. But, see,
really, I had none.

I promised we'd meet
before I died. I didn't
know you could die too.