A touch of white Mittha

Loose dresses in a white washed universe

black stars hunger for a red planetary tongue

the axis is heady and needs no gravity

seems like space has swallowed an angel's entirety

no cosmic antithesis of divulging voids

no hoarse vocal mistakes

all commands I hate

all dreams that are invented for an inventory's sake

march with me

to sleep on that universe of null

kisses are not all confessions

blind loves do not come from arrows

eros and cupid were such once good bedfellows

they sting inside a womb

Venus drank too much of Bacchus

Aphrodite throws her off

a parade

blasting with flames

a set rule of passion dissolves in white fumes...never reincarnated