I left the sonnets in the cupboard
haikus behind the door
pressed flowers like Alfred Prufrock
and left them on the floor
they said:
you are woven gossamer
silk threads in violent dance
I stole for you the moments
I could not leave to chance
in the downfall of a kiss
a diction soonest made
that all the king’s horses
could not have sweeter laid
but you, you dream inspired
unrequited and unresolved
and in the shadow of your thirst
my self in answer called.