Like the touch of the Crescent
Touching those stars makes you go ballistic
Felt lifted into another string,
Girdled that path to warm thee with desire,
To the colours of each she plays,
Drowning in the sunken wine of her voice,
Show her all the sudden shade,
spill some ice and make her crave
Gemmed like warm waves
at the open space
Glittered, while silver's
bright feathers,
Clustered in a purple hue,
She put on her face and kissed my hand,
Nor night with the petals of the moon;
Smoulders the amber blue,
Hath not a twinkling while her high sneer,
She smiled again it's her hours to play.
- Shreya
-