To My Greens
Category: /General/I know, what I want.
Like peeling off the left thumb―
not to leave any whorls
and lines on your heart.
Gloved hands, seek
the vocal cards, to discern
the scream. A tea cup spills
on your spotless table cloth.
Can you read the tea leaves?
I never opted to know
my future; when there was
no present. Why to brood for the golden eggs?
Toric lens. Two curves.
I see two faces. Far and near―
My eyes blur. I cannot read the doric
of your lips― the rustic dialect.
Lets exchange the contours
of yours and mine.
Favorite Favorite Comment Comment Share Share
Report an item by sharing it with support.
© individual authors and creators. Create, Share and Profit at etastic.com.