i see
the rustic roof beside the tree
that for long holds...
a soggy rubber
a wheel
as though, moon shrinks
and fall to wonder
my eyes opened, my heart tears
trying to escape
the guilt
for years
they have built
scent of an apple from candlelit
on my palm, the warmth
emits...
running through the cold room
whilst the black thick smoke
runs outside
signaling doom
eyes still on the slit
sitting...
kashmir on my cheek
whilst thee
gracing...
the road
like there is no tommorrow
but there is
as if a white cold ice
dropped...
on a hot black coffee
i, on a leveled dorm
and thee
under the rustic roof
« return.