The scars and mistakes-
the sins of omission,
just the recognition
of absence, arrives
like a treat.
And let’s not blush
when honoring
the lust.
(ok, I’m blushing)
What is, is beautiful
Poem
Trans
I’ve lost a son
in the sea of ideas –
yet, while I weep here,
along the shore
for he, who is no more –
they emerge exactly
as they were meant to be.
She.