i can’t mend things perfectly
like a soothsayer in my vagina
asking to rise- a phoenix of morality
but i cant do a thing flawlessly you see-
i have a thing forsaken to blend
with another skin of my body,
cerulean dreams of raisins and chestnut
i am black
i am broken,
pieces jittered in a jigsaw game
so i can’t cook food for you,
neither i can wash sublime clothes,
naked your soul-let it be ah!
my fingers are flaky,
monsoon in one part of the world-
unrest in a soliloquy of dreams,
yes i bleed while sleeping, morose cryptic ways
yes, i am numb,
sour apple jam to lick and throw.
I am all of that,
like a lotus in the salina.
Skin is music
skin is lyrical,
regenerating faces of loss
and i cling to it till
i drop my ashes to rest.
©Image and words of MVS