Sharing my sweetbread
with you in densely days when
want spans religion.
You burn my roses.
Exiting the day I go for―
wash of cannabis.
Cannot forget you
once in my emptiness of
harvesting the moon.
Rains. The August night―
invites an apparition.
You walk through the door.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 30th, 2019 21:21
- Category: Nature
- Views: 28
Offline)
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