who am I
to garden your smile
on the well-guarded lips
with tips of my fingers
who am I
to question your name
on the tip of my tongue
while cavils still linger
who am I
deprived though enticed
an inveterate seer
of eye-blinded sightings
who am I
an ‘i’ missing dot
for the ceiling’s my sky
serves nightfalls as whiting
who am I
when tensions are swelled
with both palter and quail
crossing shallows of falter
who am I
a tragic flaw’s flap
while my gravity’s kept
for your smiling to alter
who I am
October 2, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112100209149