Your flowers of May
     are not as enticing
     as those of my January.

It knows
    no domain, no!

He's
    electricity
       running
          through
             my
                soul.

I didn't want you to know how much I wanted you so I kept writing poems about you, put them in a box, buried it at the backyard near the mango tree where I carved your name. And, I left you a note during my last visit.*

I was rocking my chair there at  the front porch cuddling my kitties like an eighty-year-old lady was supposed to be on a sunny afternoon. Then there's this little boy (who looked so much like you when you used  to be kid with chubby cheeks on a picture in a frame hanged from your living room wall) who never stopped nagging me about those letters in a box he found at the backyard.

Remind me (again) of youth
Share (again) with me freedom
Come, let's play
Or just take me, take me (back)
To where we don't need to talk
About the big, big things
And the future.