A night of one thousand moons
and I am dancing
in dark.
Circa.
My half-script was left
with you, under a scrap.
Now I am not
finding any punctuations
in the aerie.
At unknown heights
wake me up in blue depths
when sun does not rise.
Stones placed on hyacinth
will not bury the scent.
I might bring another red spike.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: October 14th, 2016 22:56
- Category: Nature
- Views: 24
Offline)
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