#087

Let him tumble inside.
Let him fetch me a name.

These are conifers. Half-
incandescent. Heat-maps. And
i call those stars-
those neurotic spots who
bounce off my tongue.

In desperation.

Let me unwear
this silence off dumb
fingertips.

Let him lend me a kiss.

Your secrets hang in-
-verted. In
tandem.

You promised I’d still own a heart.

©Mohana Das

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