screwed (ii)

waking up,

riding through
a dream’s galloping pace,
i wonder

if i bypassed my need
to be touched,
strung like a kite
against the face
of a shy-sky —

his eyes an empty-colour of opportunity, my skin,
a canvas bled —
the night lingered

like a lizard, in the thrall of a fly,
hovering over my lips.

© Anmol Arora

A 55-er for Art FLASH at WRT
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