Jormungand or Ouroboros?
It is myself that eats myself.
It is not this place.
Not the grinding of this sandy shelf
nor the children on its face…
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Siren
You are my inspiration,
my sweetest transgression.
My temptress muse, my lover:
you call to me like no other.
Lunacy
Your gentle touch, the swell of your hip,
and your evening companionship.
Oh my sweet lover, joy of my night,
you make my life maddeningly bright!
Potential
Branches reaching out,
arms stretching towards the sky.
Who knew that such a tiny sprout
would ever grow so high?
Write one leaf about running.
One foot going forward, the other following,
all the while feeling this burning in my chest.
Though I’m often tired and struggling,
I keep pushing forward, trying my best.
Difficulties
I can see the path to take
stretching out ahead,
edged by all of the mistakes
that keep me frustrated.
Maybe I’m adopted…
They move about the house,
snowfall rubbernecking.
I’m more like a mouse
than these giants, thundering.
Dammit
Buried under my blanket
and sheets so soft and deep,
I remember, with regret,
that once awake, I can’t get back to sleep.
Write one leaf about spilled milk.
I look down at my regrets
spread out across the floor…
And I try not to forget
I can always go back to the store.
Faster! Deeper!
As I look outside my walls,
I survey a scene in white.
The world buried in snowfall
with still no end in sight.
A (wise) man of two faces 