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Updated: Sep 13

By Atraiu Gupta

sunbeams from parched panes of glass and

salt silken cups— covered in dead moss.

her eyes gaze at those numb fractures of light;

pale in each cornice, shadowy and sober.

yet in reflections she lives, and in moments she dreams—

of the white desires crawling from my drunk heart,

creeping up to her moonbeam bound summer lips.

to breathe those splendors of her maiden eye—

purer than a crystal from the coaled lands;

remains my blurred reaction to the thundering of silent clouds.

to grace the slender beauty of her virgin hands—

that lay upon the calm of the night;

remains no sweet regret of mine.

to make this world, a world of desire—

sensual within its each inch and aroused in pleasure;

remains a poetic mess of my life.

By Atraiu Gupta

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