where you at monsoon been a minute since you clocked us good
Tag: literature
dressed in black we say our last words to the dying heat
flushed faces buried in the flesh of pleasure
river tides bring to shore the smell of death summer dawn
dark eyes beset by fatigue and the onslaught of morning’s light
bus ride the slow state of flow into somatic subconscious
summer bodies swelter in the night moth’s flutter
they play us like puppets flesh and bone stringed to higher beliefs
the summer breeze guides me detached from the herd and seeing
my mind is quiet now tell the seasons to go back to their caves
elancharan gunasekaran 