Produced out of love,

Or out of mere lust,

When the intentions

Are misleading,

The universe blends

Me with the dust.

 

From his to hers,

I sail with the breeze;

One and two and

There’ll soon be a three,

But generally, not as

Easy as it seems.

 

Oftentimes I find

Myself astray,

Prolongingly

Meandering towards

An unknown way,

Waiting to reach the bay.

 

If I’m the chosen one,

I’ll reach the anther;

Too idle to choose

My own destiny,

I can only hope for

The wind to carry me.