I’m writing less these days.
Figuring out the reason
I lose the frame of mind
That has till now
Heated my coffee,
Whose depth you compared
With my navel.
The times you gifted me with
Awaits at my threshold
Not to enter into my domicile
But to resurrect in me
The ancient tradition
Of coating love with courtly songs
Where I’m Petrarch
And you my Laurel,
Coronating the chase with
A second’s glance of the Human-god.
Woe seems me.