Lunar mouth-pipe 
jeweling the crown of hushed winds
Your blue bleed
like latte on a washed Sunday
Denim songs and laundry rhyme
I am carrying you
my palmistry threads enslaving your karaoke voice

Offbeat street lamps
( like crooked canine teeth )
are blasting in my face
A nothingness that I want to leave behind

These chanting concrete paths
massage my foot soles
with a deranged scoop of complex numbers
Iota graphs scribbling
these tributaries of imploring nostalgia

Balls of your lipstick pouts
still smooch the insides of my leaking fingers
Mountain lakes
swirl in me and around
You are framed
A negative luminesce of my reeling ink
An endearing nothingness
of paper cigarettes twerking in my mouth

© Aakriti Kuntal
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