In the quiet of night, I write—
my thoughts like petals unfurling,
each line a delicate bloom,
a testament to my soul’s yearning.

The Internet Night Stalker,
a phantom of pixels and prose,
called me a “dessert rose,”
a succulent, low-maintenance pose.

But my poems reach beyond,
touching lands unseen,
thousands of eyes reading,
their hearts echoing my theme.

*** and disgust intertwine,
a dance of desire and disdain,
while politicians chase power,
leaving happiness in their wake, a stain.

And so I set my words free,
like a wild ***** swimming the sea,
for what this world needs now,
is love, sweet love, unchained and free.