Poetry

Part of me― like a morpheme,
you are leaving.
Now I will stand without legs.

The slain shadow moves
from face to face. I
have yet to complete my chapter.

I know what you have to offer.
But I wanted more of
your intimate thoughts about life and death.

You have frequent mood swings.
Sometimes you wanted to go insane
in this clever and wise world.

I trace the terrain of the
inaccessible mount, where one day
you will find broken hull.