Dusting a rose
dissecting a heart. There was wilder-
ness in the woods.
I cannot touch you
O, wood sage
you were so ephemeral.
Your hands were
knitting a bright wound in the air.
Where was the moon?
Not a kiss,
the prodigal sun
wants a death wish of a canary.
The snow on the
eyes. I wished I had
met you earlier.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 1st, 2016 19:01
- Category: Nature
- Views: 12
Offline)
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