I hate the self-immolation
of orange sex.
Weather was leaving
blue strings on the skin.
Redemption was incomplete
by sharing the legs
Lips will not knead
the ears.
Like wakng in darkness
for a passage to grief.
Black moon will step aside
for a flame at the end of tunnel.
Satish Verma
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 13th, 2011 23:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
Offline)
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