#011

Tunnel mouth pastel-ed-
scrubbed sunshine,
mossy drips, damp, wriggling
on bricks stashed
sometime I can’t figure out,
choking, on history, as
the honeymoon crimson isolated sits,
provoking palpitations.
Do you remember your kissing
tan legs, splayed on sofa arms,

or, are memories gone,
wiped clean from your mind whizzing
abandoned sewer chill, on
our catacomb love-making,
hysteric delight?

I still find traces all around.

©Mohana Das

Linked to Magpie Tales

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14 thoughts on “#011

  1. Love it!!!

    Here are my favorites:

    “mossy drips, damp, wriggling”

    “choking, on history, as
    the honeymoon crimson isolated sits”

    “catacomb love-making”

    Traces all around, indeed.

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