i. On days When it is stormy On the inside of my skin, And I can hear The echoes of my heart Breaking Inside my ribcage, You gently pick up The pieces Of my broken dreams Where they have fallen On the floor From the … Continue reading Letters to my mother.
I want to etch Poetry On snow-capped mountains With words That turn A shy shade Of pink, The colour Of your palm When I pinch it, lightly. * I want to hang Your shattered pieces, Glittering moons In the sky, Their beauty Reflected In the … Continue reading I want to.
I search for words In the front pockets Of your unbuttoned denims Hanging just behind the door, And in the fragrance of the flowers That will decorate Your graveyard someday. * I search for words Underneath the dust That decorates the frame Of our photograph, … Continue reading Language of the seas.