Mauve detachment;
I wanted a short placenta.
The dust wants
to eat me. My legs give―
away, when sun goes
blind.
I will offer you
my dreams to nestle
in paws of destiny.
Don't walk on the
hot sands. They are going
to roast my poems.
I smell your pines
I drink your cones
Lake was inviting
the boat.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 25th, 2023 21:30
- Category: Nature
- Views: 5
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.