The last fragrance of nomad. Lost. Profound. The stolen moments of a decade. The red stones. Unearthed, yet carved. The yellow tropical rain forest. The shimmer of a web and the death within. The air - rotten, yet radiantly basking in that last ray. South. North. East. West. West. West.
The talks. Length. Width. The snort inhaled. Snoot all over. The fire, dead. The space restored after the night before. Green moss all over. Creepers creeping. The vipers hissing. The rattlers - well, rattling insane.
Traces of smell in my hair. I reached city. I was torn. The clothes, stitched with twigs of nature. Walked towards my car. Reached for my keys. And I found, him... stubbed and wrinkled.
1 reactions:
Death in the centre of the web,
Twitches, pulls me close...
Leads me in a merry dance,
My dry bones... sing... chirp, like crickets gay...
Unseeing, dark holes for eyes, see his face...
I reach for him, and I find...
My car keys.
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