Poetry

What was about this face? 
Between mirage and actuality? 
A fireball was coming towards you. 
You upturn the underside, 
wanted to taste the blood 
and get argasm. 
The statues were posing nude. 
 
Mothers were clad in leaves. 
Fruits were the greed of man. 
I refuse to lie in state. The 
sand grains will find the innocence 
of silver breasts when sky will 
spat a murder. Were you ready 
now to become corrupt? 
 
At last the beginners are now 
becoming the boots.