My babies are made of water.
They emerge on the surface as you are having
Dinner.
Quietly, in their liquid attire.
Forget sparks, spit on the power of fire –
My babies are made of water.
Her insignificant nothings tell me
I should ride my own
Horses.
I know using hugs for crutches
Is not what She wants
Of me.
Hey you,
Yes you - if I ran away into the river,
And my pebble-cut hands refused to beckon
For your shadow,
Would you curse me then?
Erase everything that I have been
To you?
