Buried at sea
the dead man lives, as if a blood
in a reliquary.
Remains of a day
were very volatile.The backlash
will start with a kiss of moon.
By the lack of a sin
you meet an ambush
lying in wait.
The severed hand will
hold the sunrise.
Who will write the epitaph?
A stunning breast, over your
reflection, the red rains
come for celebration.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: September 26th, 2015 23:46
- Category: Nature
- Views: 10
Offline)
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