Between the branches of lips
I stutter with precincts of embarked skin.
The callous round body of moon kissed tranquility
The eucalyptus, trimmed
Traveling through empty nights,
A voyage on drugs, maybe
So thick now,
And my neck of prayers
Of bruises & dreams,
I think of morning breakfast,
Of egg shells & spilled pickle.
A pattern to die.
Another pattern of shedding.
Is this how a woman’s mind sheds?
a loose necklace,
Crawling onto knees,
a noiseless sound everywhere.
She stands at the sunset
Touching her skin, her mind, half eaten poetry,
The night delivers a soft poetic arm
of a fermenting lost lover.
Devika Mathur resides in India and is a published poet, writer. Her works have been published in Madras Courier, Dying Dahlia Review, Pif Magazine, Spillwords, Duane's Poetree, Piker Press, Mojave heart review, Whisper and the Roar amongst various others. She is the founder of surreal poetry website "Olive skins" and writes at wordpress - my valiant soul.