I remember
the time in October
when sisters and brothers
dressed cool with desire.
I drooled on the sweetness
with swiftness--relieve these
torn hinges with gifts and
delicious young snitches.
Oh, snitches, I call thee
for my love is old, see
that she doesn't love me
as much as you do, three
young spirits. October
night, thank me for my free
love--destiny calls for us.
True love is not the lust.
Forget her so sinful
desire for pleasure
or her plea for more me
through choices, dilemmas;
let us three be merry.
Twelve men see the weary
eyes steel for this moment
of true love, not lust.
Young and old, old and young;
love is love, not just lust.
God, save me.
BINABASA MO ANG
Mahal-lika!
PoetryIs love just a a collection of feelings for one? Is it just a sweet section of chocolate for one? Hearken! My heart beats faster, the box shakes stronger -- Mahal-lika! Let us tell their stories of love divine, their love full of sin!
