there’s passion

between us

but we stay blind

we keep our urges

deep inside

we are tempted

to touch each other

but we stay deprived

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fingers wrap my neck
tear at my shirt senselessly
naked in my dream

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I miss not looking back
On fleeting moments
Just hours later
With a painful reminiscence.


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the woodlot

ephemeral pollen
spiraling seeds
discarded leaves
covering snow

progenitors of the woodlot
where i sit thinking of poems

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Cricket Hours

Stars’ enigmatic lights reached down
through maples & outbuildings
not giving or taking
from cricket hours
but changing my vision
& altering my perceptions.

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