All kinds of people read poetry: revolutionaries, scholars, sentimentalists etc. But above all else, lovers read poetry. Why? Because we fell in love. And then we fell in love with love.

Love is a snowflake for no two are ever the same.

The only thing necessary in this world is love. Everything else is secondary.

Our homes travel with us. They are wherever we feel loved and accepted.

Fell in love first,
Fell in love quickly—Like I was pushed.
Fell in love next,
Fell in love slowly—Like I was strolling.
Falling in love now
And feeling crazy.
Thinking of closing my eyes
And jumping.

Lovers dream of one more embrace.
One more kiss.
One act of love, no matter how small.
For in loving, lover and beloved
emptied themselves.
Now,
they look for their oasis
like men engulfed in flames.
Even filled to the brim,
they will never satiate.
For they continue to leak, these
cracked vessels.
How else did love seep through?