The expatriate


An exercising promise wore the lotus lump
Lingering in the candle's guttering roar on the wall
The toe elves of an anchored smell
Tethered the cocoons nested in your eyes.

The cotton buds floating in curd
Trapezed over the jasmine wound
Castled in the thick onion pickle
Teething were my night odes.

The sprinkled spring on my soul shade
Smile torches my dream through the loin cloth
Where butterflies on badminton racquets
Chime solace over the coffin choir.

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