And my life half composed left me barren,

love must sprout from the tenderness of kisses

and the softness of a touch-

Desolated once again my bed an island

in the middle of an ocean of desires

left untouched-

And I drowned many times in the flesh

of passing lovers,

and I burned in the flames of blazing fires

to be left once again lone and barren

in an ocean of desires

left untouched-


“And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness.”
― Sylvia Plat






I keep no trace of your pain

wounds can’t heal on ragged skin

or flesh denied of a touch

in blinding obsession tight shut.

Love most times runs downstream

becoming someone else’s dream

and pain remains deep inside

while I tender my own grief.

Knots were long ago untied

and may seem somewhat insane

that to live we must first die,

so I ask you to forgive

I keep not trace of your pain.