My Lovely Machine Poem by menash mohan shrestha
My Lovely Machine
Her hours seem patient,
As she painted her sky with colours
that would never suffice,
Her years betray her,
in the throttle of her skin,
the torque of her machine getting
away from her.
As I may visit her dreams, her
paper faces all falls apart, under
the threat of the rain.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
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4/26/2024 5:08:25 PM # 1.0.0.1119
