You were very keen for
sense of smell. I have
stepped down from the ivory
tower, repeating myself.

A mute revenge rape was
defeating the god. Would you
end up to be divine
than human?

Becomes difficult now
to rekindle. There was no hope
to touch your fringed orchids
with pouting lips.

Brokers have come out
in open to sell the fake Michelangelos.
I had painted you on a frail
paper with broken fingers.

Will you place some
candlesticks at the altered
windows of your house
to misguide me?