Image

The envelope's blue fold

like a catharsis of us

entrapped like a canopy,

or a memory.

The rusty smell of Vodka

The lying knocks,

Hush, this moment

a fragment of the moon.

I sink into your lips

and memorize your words—

Propitiating, proliferating

your eyes resemble best with

my heart. Maundering tiny tales.
©MVS

Published by

my valiant soul

A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times. Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied. My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others. Curator of Olive Skins.

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