It's all dark,
With the musk in air,
I feel the warmth,
And the breath you
share.
A perfect gale to
hold us tight,
It melts my core,When you brush my
hair.
You heal me up,For the cuts you
make.
You seem pedantic,
With the curves you phrase.
It makes me cold,With my lips so
white.
When I see thine
eyes,
Shadowed by a light.
Thy are my crucible,I need thine touch. Oh thine hands, Around my mutch.
From just a heap,
To the lips so high.
I am a waxing moon as such.
Thy seek a question, I am thine clue. For the sculpture thy are, I am the construe.
Still just a dream,
Which shall just
fade.
Thy took a leave,
With all my pain.
And "Ye" see me
now,
When I am dead.
-Shashank Kumar