Comments about Akshat Pokharna
How She Set Me Alive
Her cold hands in the warm of mine,
Her pretty black all over me,
And how her curls swayed when she walked aside.
Her mirth was a poison too divine,
Her soft, where left bare, shone like moonlight,
Oh! How they mocked my senses, electric in her presence.
Her fragile self of the demented kind,
Held deep dark eyes and an impish smile,
And how I stared at them while she laughed.
She settled where no one else did reside,
In my mind where loneliness once did devour.
And know nothing I did.
Her happy face filled mine with warmth,