The Pleasure Melt
The drops were saying something,one day.
The tinkle answered to every with a yes.
The commotion of senses was manually stopped since
eyes were closed.
particles recruited only the relaxed sanity,verges blunt with ease in the flow.
The moulds are designed to be felt,acknowledged.
The rhymes of the patterns spoke of balance and unobjectionable,layers remained.
Tangled cliches got overthrew by the murmur still making their way.
The plates of soundless aroma,dropped from air
in air.
Copyright © Aanchal Shrivastava | Year Posted 2016
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