(A collaboration with Rona Fe Almazan)
Noble, as you bestow yourself to me,
Conniving with freedom and so with secrecy.
But there is nothing epic in the plot you reckon
To weave me tangled in the sultry burrows of your being
I’d leave my sentiments, dry up these dreadful illusions
And burn my amusement with bitterness or deceptions
For it all boils down to preferences fit for moral, no, mortal, convenience
All far from the magnitude of scarcely explored greatness.