WAITING FOR YOUR TOUCH

Disembodied night

Opens his eyes and his lashes

Sun did not burn the pond

Of deeply silent waters

Sky is erased of circles made by

Careless kites with broken strings

I wear the blouse of moon

My navel is concave like naked

Depressed earth

My arms are like the adventitious roots

falling from an intelligent tree

Standing alone in a hermitage of intellect

 

This poem is unfinished

Till it meets your eyes of desire

Like a pause without a shape

Waiting for your touch

to bestow the contours

 

 

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6 thoughts on “WAITING FOR YOUR TOUCH

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