A fuzzy fear descends.
You become ensconced―
in the smell of a
paranoia.
The saltcutter will forego
the idiosyncrasy
and start collecting the oil
from the dome.
A stain on the shirt
spreads, covers
the heart in distress.
Codas were waiting.
Do not burn the book.
Go in a lily pond for a ―
script. The different shades
of flesh will be revealed.
The divine sin will ask
for a retribution for ―
the withdrawl syndrome.
- Author: satishverma ( Offline)
- Published: May 27th, 2018 19:57
- Category: Nature
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
Comments1
Woah 👍
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