Cross Roads

I'm told
I've been sighted
at the crossroads
I once called home.
Now I know
he wasn't me.

Fresh Flow

In the night of our truth
I could hear
the flow of your flesh
over the dark side
of a new moon...

Walking Heart

Walking through the cemetery
I let my steps fall prey
to a greater silence;
and between the dead steps,
my heart.

Written Body

The most beautiful poem
is the one I have written
within your body...
without mine.