In the morning, your eyes peel away, the dew drops they settle down, like tears they run down your face, your blood moves beneath your flesh, pulsing around your jugular, and I know your heart lurks in the orifice beneath your bosom.

For as tales are are told, the smoke ensues, in pursuit of a luxury your mere mind cannot accommodate. If I could kiss the life off your lips, or gently slit your neck, run my hands into the underside of your body and undress.

To rot in the guilt of a grieving thundercloud, forever rains and freckled frogs. Crush the mix of a putrid elixir, a kind harlot to the withered bitter bodies. Delusional is the enigma fallacy propagates, a broken agenda, I love her and I love her too.

-Angad Nanda