For breakfast I'm having
A strawberry kissed sky
With a blend of pale  blue
Above me
Downed with a quiet cup
Of tea and cream
And a smile
Upon my face
To stir a
Memory in my heart

“A poet's qualifications include common sense, knowledge of character, adherence to high ideals, combination of the dulce with the utile, intellectual superiority, appreciation of the noble history and lofty mission of poetry, and above all a willingness to listen to and profit by impartial criticism.”


Ars Poeti a (ll. 295–476).[10]

my dear tender eyes
the smallest things are the greatest things
disguised by nothing
their beauty standing on its own and like truth
it can only be recognized
so my dear tender eyes take my hand and can you feel we are made of that same tenderness that tilts towards love

never having to say
you're sorry

but I am
regrets

they hang on me
like tinsel

Between sleeping and not sleeping there's so much meaning,
Lost and sleepily found again,
Causing joy and provoking pain.