Your body, intense―
eats the sins,
dedicated to hunger OF temple.
Weeping windows
will speak for ground zero
from where you picked up the rosary.
Would you invoke
the spirits of owls, who would
not open their eyes in day light?
This was the thought
of the moment. I hail
the half-finished kiss.
There was an allegro
in the outskirts of moon.
I wanted to wear a mark.
- Author: satishverma ( Offline)
- Published: August 21st, 2019 19:19
- Category: Nature
- Views: 8
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.