Indulgence.The decadence ofwritten word will not sufferfate dead and buried.
Desired.Calendar smut gluedas holy murals on walls.How do I compete?
Conflict.Last time Winter broughta boy in tears, pawn conflict,and heartstrings sharpened.
Sexuality.My mother asked once,"Do you even like girls?" Ilaughed, "I like no one."
Bloom.Answer my heat withcold compress of written word;I will bloom within.
Photosynthesis.My love is meadowwhere the flowers grow for you;sunlight eternal.
Letters.I crave taste of daywhen your thoughts are brought to lifein text horizon.
Chained.I dreamt you were here,your arms in place of shackles;captured, happy, free.
Fontanel.I can't write haikuswithout subconscious reveals.My brain is exposed.
The Dove, A Haiku like cupidsoaring in the sky the small dove goes flyingby, bringing love on his wings and courage on oh-so beautiful feathers for the unwantingpeople on the earth, living free of hardshipsbrought upon them by things like "us"
Wanted.Seeking silhouette:Read me poetry while ICry feverishly