May 15, 2020
Mute
Mostly as clouds
Floating shapes
Blurred edges
That's how they come
To the tip of the tongue
The ears sense clearly
The images falling on
The peripheries, torrential
The clouds on your tongue
You taste them to check
The texture, grossness
And you swallow them quietly
Eyes hooked on leaves rustling
Streams flow and clouds rain
For there is no other way and
You swallow your words just like that
©Sreeja
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