Your lips go dry, when
body twirls to catch a kiss.
The sting ever asks.
Unshackled, you will
come to become prisoner
of a seething sun.
Visiting city of
orphanages, you cross the
high rise asylum.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: September 19th, 2023 20:59
- Category: Nature
- Views: 4
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.