This morning is red cacti
growing over my pattern thighs
Sun discs and pitched 
tents of bent light

I wake up to the currents in the ceiling
My body rising like a thermometer
Your voice
slipping through my cracks
or am I conceiving the beautiful things ?

I lie flat,
an alga in thrown waters
waters shaping ferns
moments in a quilt
shivering in the winter sun
I cannot see
past the past
I cannot see

© Aakriti Kuntal

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s