Is it a privilege
to breath the same air with you
at this era and time of history
world half ravaged by a virus of respiratory
it is getting late, clouds come and go
fingers touch and cross
sunlight fumbles on your cuticles
I’m hoping…
moonlight clashes on your clavicles
… we’d never met
I’ve been here long, long enough
to fool myself
it’s where I belong, come from
I’m a wolf pretending to be wool
I’m the misfit sipping the monsoon
a touch down to oblivion
hesitate, dilate,
direct eyes for death to ornate
Applause, for my limping stallion
Inkwell Talks 