In the empty house
of snow,
though, interred a blade of grass
when I was searching one
midnight flame
in frozen night, on
parting lips of darkness.
The art of delusion
churns the sea for an untitled
arsenic, of a blue throat.
I am dynasty and I am
the king of million whites.
Fatherless sins
in rusted boots
were having a last laugh.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: May 30th, 2015 22:10
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
Offline)
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