It’s always a surprise to discover a cache of long-forgotten poems tucked away in some obscure file but often it’s depressing to realise, on reading them, how mediocre they are.
I suppose I shouldn’t mourn the irretrievable hours spent crafting them because such time is never entirely wasted and there are always one or two that are worth a second look.
Perhaps Besame Mucho is one such poem.
Kisses can be so diverse,
I never knew before
how each is like a snowflake:
Within your arms
drab terrain made beautiful
by drifting snow.