he told me about his fears
all the girls and all the friends
and how my B'day means nothing
How all these poems
and how the pain means nothing ...and you thought love was something...
but still there are going to be storms on
April the 3rd
b'day cakes and travel
thinking I better wish myself
and wrap myself as a gift for him
like tears in mimic
as i lay shaking
not an alone orphan
a child of blooming instinctive instinct
crying in his arms.