Little Package
She is a little package,
sits a tight ass,
and swings stick limbs.
I could crush
her in one hand.
Yet the soft spot
I have for her
kills me slowly.
Starting with the heart
her every look away
drills panic nails.
I cut my arms.
They are empty without her,
they have no use.
Deafness is
a comfort without
her pure whispers.
It escapes her
fading footsteps.
Not longer able
to stand up
for myself my voice
slides to its end
on this page.
Note: I wrote this on the way to a soccer match on Easter Friday - great game (Geylang vs Tampines - 3-2 - and what drama! In poetry, there is much more to learn, I know.
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