Bramble Gates

Hauled up the breast suture. You were following the milk route, epitomizing the fall. From the golden clouds. Wanting to swim in blue veins, you were drowned. The fire has spurted the blood. A carbon copy of exit strategy in your hands, you unreel the chains of libido in failed state of limbs. The cartel has littered the street with gentle greens, to buy the lips. Spurned lover commits a suicide. Satish Verma