Poetry

Your slanting smile 
like a pendant-moon 
ready to collapse 
on pomegranates. 
 
* 
 
Monstrous, bug-eyed, 
my pug will jump; 
whenever, I touch 
his snub-nose. 
 
+ 
 
Death was sparring 
after a brief encounter. 
What was the need 
for living more?