Poetry

Trying to forget, I forget myself.
Who am I? I had
an elective love for unknown.

As a gardener I was tending
you in my palms― a precious plum;
so soft that you
start wilting under the gaze.

The sharp edge― you gave,
to my phrases. I cannot use this
weapon against you―
when you want to leave.

I was very afraid of
disintegration. As far as you go
I will not touch you in
any downpour.

Eyes. lips and long―
black tresses. I won't need
anything more.