Adressed as the gift
from a gentle soul
(for want of a better word).
Meant as a warm monsoon rain,
cut the skin as sleet,
as they are words of scorn.
No victims for me,
no statues I seek,
or honours.
Victim of pareidolia,
in the river of faces,
no more than 2m,
your face.
Next, I'll see you on a toast.
No comments:
Post a Comment