that day was india with you;
humidity dripping sickly ornate
over the cardamom-steeped oxygen trees
and their
rich fibbonacci stars
as you sat upright, fussing
like some indecent queen
for her regalia
from tower, from wall, from orchard, to the sea
until there awakes some peculiarity;
it ticks in confidentially
clad in familiarity
until your armada replies
caspian in my brain
No comments:
Post a Comment