Tilted lips on the wet eyes.
Below the lids
was floating an island in a lake.
Latched to a full moon
I was trotting with snowshoes,
trekking with stars.
A volatile virginity
rebounds
ticking in your heart, spiteful.
And I, lonely as a black hill
seek the silver dew
that moons the green windows.
O malignant night
I was not worthy of death
you bestowed on me.
Satish Verma
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: July 8th, 2011 22:10
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.