Finding myself

I collect parts of myself, ones that roll like coins in a silent room. These are messages hidden in some corner, perhaps under the sofa. I put them in a teacup. No cream or sugar there. And I find the flavor of me again.

Ode to a flower

I asked her, how do you feel beautiful flower, knowing of your short life. She said, why do you waste precious moments in contemplation and soak in the joy of my being.    


Love lasts

He was the ink she wrote her love stories with. One day, the bottle rolled over and crashed. Walking to sea, she washed her ink soaked palms. Spreading love everywhere.