Gradually I fail to fall in love so do my attempts to write poems It's not that they are connected, love and poetry you and me now and then. But they conjure, haphazard evenings and revolting senses. The void, that takes over like a weed looking for excess.
Jesus, crucified in an altar facing the sea Desires, Prayer beads Rain down your skin as you walk, into the endless gaze of a body sprouting blood You turn away, from the wickfires, glorifying a sacrifice, and face the monsoon waves Love, leaves the shore again and again Droplets from the altar flow past your breath filling the waters The sea and the sky, Pale blues, spilling over each other You smile, as you notice, a million crossing overs wetness over the sandbanks yellow lights over eyes, closed sky over your purpose, and My longings, over your abundance
The legacy you pass down to your son, sits at your backyard showering flowers on to a pit Golden white fur breathless, still lovable sleeps, over ants mud, dry leaves and tears He sits lost, recollecting the pet names, the cuddles, the warmth that spread through his feet And I, stare through the million mounds over my senses The barren cemetery Lit by my solo cigars
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