21.12.2018 06:34
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All this talk including a tunnel
of kid gloves and landmines went underground.
You were catching my limbs
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs
with friends spent, whose names like patients names.
Our clumped appetite stirs and how
when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Hope in the propriety niche, you said, is upon misplaced
or no wait at all. But I clout, in my dreams I vision,
in my dreams I do not hope.
Where were you when was I? Counting down
the decades representing the honour as casualty of our previous war.
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