You seldom touch
the flames of eyes, when
I believed it was true.
Your hand burns.
Ceremonial. I
pluck the roses in
delirium. O pain-giver
there was beautiful blood.
Cloud, cloud tears
slip for thousand of years
to reach the dry lips of iris.
Why did I go blind?
After the snake bite
you turn blue, a goddess
of forgotten sins, I
will never blame you.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: August 8th, 2023 19:43
- Category: Nature
- Views: 1
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments1
A stunning poem with packed emotion 💖
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