#027

blackness sublimates to luna hues
cold like kisses
hot like kisses
blithely passionate
unwanted
like mirrors, or
 
call them looking glasses-
the face i see is a face i do not know
as if vapors have frozen to give it a name
as if it were an exhibit in a morgue
 
when we accidentaly outlive love-
that is where the apocalypse begins
 
©Mohana Das

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5 thoughts on “#027

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