The cold is its own cave.
The dream pops and crackles,
rapidly cooling after I leave it.
I close my eyes and it's dew in a cavern.
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Me
- Basit
- Son, Mallu, Expeditionist, Whimsical Blogger, Pseudo Poet, Haiku thirst, Literaly anti-literal, Foodie, Coffee & PinkFloyd addict. floating bewilderedly through space-time continuum !
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The folds in his eyelids of memories restrained each lash keeping a secret of what couldn't be undone.
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