My love, I was at our backyard this morning.
The rain was delivered fresh,
sealed with silver lining and sunlight
blessing us more than usual.
Snails crawled on manicured grass and tall wooden
fences. I was sitting by the garden table eating
hard-boiled eggs, tapped lightly onto rock salt
in between bites. Satisfied, I put a pinch
of salt on my palm, walked towards a snail
on the fence post. I seasoned its slimy body.
It retracted, foaming
like hydrogen peroxide against abrasion.
then slowly
detaching to its fall.
An hour later, it has not emerged.
This slithering open wound, safe
in its shell, will never recover.
John Rafael Alcantara 
Gilford Doquila 
Hezron Pios
Hello, I’ld like to be enlightened with the underlying meaning of this poem. It is very interesting afterall