Not Thinking

Not Thinking

Death was too candid
sparing the stone cutters.

The essence
touches the ethos
of dirty feet.

Pain without
fringes seeks the solace
from severed limbs.

No one else will
know, how kind were my bruises.

Crossing the symphony
I have reached at your
silence of shivering lips.

We touch each other
by words, our voices baked.

Reviews

[Poetic Beauty]

This sounds like grand argument. One where things are said and can’t be taken back and tenderness and kindness have long been dried up