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April 25, 2006

Michael

Tiny bits of square
paper
scattered, designed
the table that separates
us.

You made my name
in brown and dull silver
The packet of creamer
now reduced to letters.

I made the sun then
on the table's corner
With half-extended rays
in a half-ball of fire.

My name,
you said, is a masterpiece.
The sun,
I said, is you.

1 comment:

* diday kampupot * said...

for some reason, i find myself reading this poem everytime i pass by your place. this poem, i like. :)