On the clothes she hangs- to dry- slowly-
Because that is all-
On the lower lip-
On the zero spring that infinity sprouts-
On the desert where I search
For the line of forever-
On the sunken stomata that survive-
On the mind on her eye that melts like butter-
On the stone lion manes you can drink from-
On the secret that all the world sees-
On the final stripe we added to the last tiger.
~Ajay
21/3/18
YOU ARE READING
seaboyman ~ poetry
Poetry~ is that not the perfect visual image of life and death / a fish flapping on the carpet and a fish not flapping on the carpet ~
