Look at me.
Defects and flaws,
I wear them as
my crown.

Gaps and distances,
and what's in between them,

innocent questions and
gruff answers, spoken offhandedly;
tones which speak volumes...

just like that
...love rekindles.

If it worked like a
twenty-four hour clock,
I would have reset
the hands of life
to one.

There was once a poet in Shanghai,
who forgot to dot each of his 'i's
and left the 't's unmarked,
so his 'm's and 'w's barked,
making him poke himself in the eye!

I harbor weeks and weeks
of overgrown ****
overfilling the secret linings
of my heart.

You think that perhaps, a word or stare,
or a ***** phrase hurled down the hem of a skirt,
can keep a woman caged and scared.

Perhaps you think too, that the only place
which suits a woman is near a musty stove,
that she should walk just along your pace.

I woe such men on their high horse,
galloping around with no remorse ...