Dead & lost

your fingers sweep saline dust
on my collarbones of dirt & dead hopes,
with figaments of knots, sordid closure.
ancient bells marking my face as salinity,
A staircase is kneaded inside my soft nerves,
my soft calves, my soft body..
the memory stinks & stuck
of you, of your black socks i slept in
your scent like vanilla sky,
enamored & ventilated, once

it’s a morbid tale of two now
Ships of lost city
with concrete desoltution
rubbing the corners of my thigh,
my plump breast, my void eyes.
it’s a tale people talk about now.
it’s a rotten sky now.

©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.

31 Comments

  1. I adore all of these images. I’m particularly keen on your ‘soft nerves’, ‘soft calves’, ‘soft body’. Repetition can get mundane, but yours was so unexpected and tender that I’m in awe. x

    Liked by 2 people

  2. How it all turns to just a tale, love it! ❤ Although there's this part I didn't understand much. What's it with the saline dust and the face being marked with salinity? I didn't get the reference actually!

    Liked by 1 person

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