Sculpture Poem by Shashank Kumar

Sculpture



It's all dark,

With the musk in air,
I feel the warmth,
And the breath you share.

A perfect gale to hold us tight,
It melts my core, When you brush my hair.

You heal me up, For the cuts you make.
You seem pedantic,
With the curves you phrase.

It makes me cold, With my lips so white.
When I see thine eyes,
Shadowed by a light.

Thy are my crucible, I need thine touch.
Oh thine hands,
Around my mutch.
From just a heap,
To the lips so high.
I am a waxing moon as such.
Thy seek a question,
I am thine clue.
For the sculpture thy are,
I am the construe.

Still just a dream,
Which shall just fade.
Thy took a leave,
With all my pain.
And 'Ye' see me now,

When I am dead.

Saturday, December 24, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: scenic
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