Very scary, I admit―
your vintage―
lovemaking with
a ghost.
Life in a crate was
creating nonpoems.
Water on the ice moon
was never there.
Unmasked you shoot a
songbird in flight.
The soft music went into
the barrel of the gun.
Come and meet my other
self. My penchant for talking
to flowers has made
me a martyr.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: January 8th, 2019 20:04
- Category: Nature
- Views: 36
- Users favorite of this poem: Sunshinefalling, Aislinn Wilson
Offline)
Comments1
You are so unlike any poet I've ever seen, and I love it. What a vivid rhythmic poem.
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