Unravished the
black moon was down
but not out.
I am being watched.
How the poem
prints itself on heart.
Curled up with
flower thoughts, staring
aimlessly in black void.
Wanted a brutally
honest truth, moon struck
but ready to give blond.
Who was desireless
being a saint. Paradox
always wins.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: February 3rd, 2024 19:38
- Category: Nature
- Views: 3
Offline)
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