Peace Afterwards

Was it a summer storm of sexuality? Only the chaste statue stood in threads, and then went down the cuticle with nipple rings. The demand of namelessness was rising in the dim shadows of brisk tones. To step down from sanity, a clown was ready to become a hunchback. Inserting the name of cupid in the missing years the theme will encircle the house. First conceived as a rose, its petals are covering your cleavage and our poor kids are slaughtered without a surveyor. Do not read between the blood streams, the solf face has become a bomber. Of eternal rage, colours are moving from red to gray. Ash was filling the empty bottles. SATISH VERMA