Poetry

What a long friendship with 
moon! 
I refuse to accept the blast. 
Papa is dead, he said and 
latched on to circularity. 
 
I don't seek the interbreeding 
with terror. 
It was me in reverse mode 
of cryptomania. 
 
Too stoic; stop. I think 
I am wrong; stop. And a serenade 
for the lady luck. This life 
was too much for me; stop. 
 
Androgynous. 
The female body wants to eat 
maleness, by almond eyes. 
The old man was walking barefoot 
with a paintbrush.