One Tends To Write Beyond

It Is Always Pleasant To Learn That Someone Takes An Interest In A Work Which One Enjoyed Writing

Snow Falling Softly On Lashes Of Eyes You Love, And A Cold Cheek Growing Warm Next To Your Own In Hushed Dark Familial December.

I Wish I Could Press Snowflakes In A Book Like Flowers.

The Aim Of The Poet, Or Other Artist, Is First To Make Something; And It's Impossible To Make Something Out Of Words And Not Communicate

However, If A Poem Can Be Reduced To A Prose Sentence, There Can't Be Much To It.