the body is a loose powder
longing through the rooms,
vacant mountains of chills.
bare chest-
a throbbing slitting moan.
the moon kisses and watches over
linguistics of a body.
decoding cacophony of amorphous substance.
unwrapping a flower-
the body is dream, you must say.
it slips and sticks to the wall-
a whorl of pink tongue.
I sit and produce words during the daytime
as I watch over my window for a twig to be stuck to my throat-
instead I have maroon dreams and floral nights -
sore limbs now,
sore words- I shift to a different paradigm,
I shift to lotus from rose.
The arrangement of bones has a purpose now.
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.
View all posts by my valiant soul
2 thoughts on “Bare Noons-”
Oh, such words, combinations, images, my mind is whirling round and round. Love this!
Oh, such words, combinations, images, my mind is whirling round and round. Love this!
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Thankyou.
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