my love soars

even if i don’t mean, you
buy into the ecstasy, the
marble gripping saint, an
arrow pierced through my

many years have
destinies befallen with
arguments, crestfallen like
a dove inside a cage…

cannot fly, though my love
soars infinitely as
trying to reach you;

if we
can meet…

then to suffer
this melancholy would be over


About mr gahon

poet... writer... culinarian... i like to work with food that appeals to the senses, write words that taste even better View all posts by mr gahon

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