Only angels and butterflies should write love poems.
When elephants, giraffes and gruff sailors try to,
they sink into the mire of unfinished thoughts not
clarified, hazy sentimental longings and clumsy
footwork. The ungainly trying to dance to a tune of
love that confuses them, leaving behind deep wounds
in the delicate soil of adoration that will never heal.
Or worst of all, the ultimate shame, to have one's
declaration of love turned into a folklore joke.
