Poem

Dear Cupid,

Why does your quiver grow so thin

without a sign of your

drawn arrows

piercing the love-struck

apertures of my heart?

Why does winter fall upon

the sharp edge of your arrow

to make them mellow

like a fearful cat

as it tries in vain to pierce this broken body?

Dear Cupid,

look for me under the moonlight

because I'd be hanging my dear heart in a balance

tonight,

shoot with accuracy

and do not withhold your dexterity,

for this poor soul

desires to be drowned in the

fierceness of your love's wrath, Cupid.

©Precious