Listening to a gleaming
word whole life
and finding its meaning at
the fag end.
And you are in thrall
to a sinful pleasure.

The yearnings
of a small Pteris,
which drinks arsenic daily
to rescue a withering smile.

A poem sings to me
under a lantern, when a
storm was raging to roil
the blue birds of imploring peaks.

It looks into your eyes
to find the answer
of complete shutdown
of cotton feel.