Poezja

Its only when my body exhausts its spirits,


am I able to define, refine and contrive my thoughts.


I’m left to ponder and conscious once more to that fact that
I lay alone


Incompletely known to confinement


The perils of this moment agonise my ease


Oh Harrow, harrow..


I wish you not to lay with me anymore.


Nor lie to me and tell me this is forever.