Lately, I’m not writing much poetry.
The odd haiku here and there
allows me ambiguity and vagueness,
but beyond the practice of three lines
I’m not writing much poetry.
Currently, I’m not writing much poetry.
I have no need for the paper’s ear,
the ink’ s smile, or the pen’s gesture.
Having discovered your listening ear,
I have no need to write much poetry.
You and I with Wings
To me you are a beautiful butterfly.
Abhorring the thought of trapping you,
imagining dusty wings below a glass display,
I reject such a corruption of my love.
But when you fly from one flower to another,
enjoying an alternative nectar offering,
remember that I am a also just a butterfly
and my wings are incredibly delicate to the touch.