Birds

I was partial to you not knowing, That you and I, would surrender to Make us gods of bed manners, And we seemed, only to entertain, The practice of valuation of contact And appreciation of taste or flavor, The rocket science of feelings, It tells you, let her climb the mountain, Slowly, pacing along, the…

New Born

The pink slip is an end, Two pink lines was a beginning, Which trickled to a pink-patch chord Cut from her bud, to usher In first singularity – life. And in that never-ending story Of the most obsessive feeling, trapped, Inside a palpitation-prone pink enclosure A labyrinth of valves and vessels, All in shades of…