satishverma
In My Small Fists
Category: /General/
(366 views)
0
You seldom touch
the flames of eyes, when
I believed it was true.
Your hand burns.
Ceremonial. I
pluck the roses in
delirium. O pain-giver
there was beautiful blood.
Cloud, cloud tears
slip for thousand of years
to reach the dry lips of iris.
Why did I go blind?
After the snake bite
you turn blue, a goddess
of forgotten sins, I
will never blame you.
Favorite Favorite Comment Comment Share Share
Report an item by sharing it with support.
© individual authors and creators. Create, Share and Profit at etastic.com.