Brutal poem. But you
want to touch it. It severes off your thumb.
You climb the rainbow to see a nude.
Will it go beyond the
kisses of a cobra? Walk slowly in peace.
The panthers wait for the fall.
This is April Fugitive
trees have started unloading. The
forest goes in flames. I am counting rocks.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: June 18th, 2021 21:29
- Category: Nature
- Views: 24
- Users favorite of this poem: James Michael
Offline)
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