For a moonshine,
there was no moon.
There was no moon
for a moonshine.
It starts a tenuous
soliloquy, raising a –
slew of questions.
Slew of questions will
evoke a mixed response.
Were you ready for
a sleepover at the shrine
to watch the St. Vitus’s dance.
It was leaking at night
from the corner of eyes.
Unaging was the secret
of polity. Are you in?
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: May 14th, 2017 22:12
- Category: Nature
- Views: 9
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.