I like to see

I like to see

I like it more naughty smile magical.

I remember

Which is never said?

The wind blows

On the balcony of time

Pride of sighted leaves

The mind-boggling horror of the deck of life

Self-directed arrow in the net

Yet your melancholy mantra

I am tired like the incessant rain

Where the poems become poetry

Repeatedly being crushed

Then I play the piano or violin

Tune-up

No one has ever been fascinated by that tune

You are not fascinated.