Pocket Poems

Mama once said

anger is not anger if one destroys out of love

love so intense that

reality is but a rose-toned reflection of

our obscurity

​

I have seen that in you

I have cried for you

​

Sometimes I grasp you until your flesh is no longer yours

but a coalescence of our forms,

our puddle.

​

That you is me.

I will preserve you.