Poetry

There was no collateral
damage to my flower vase.
My roses were intact.

I had asked you to wear
a yellow scarf like a ―
hijab of moon. Somebody was
going to meet plain brown end.

The famous leg cross of―
‘Basic Instinct' does not impress me.
I will drink from your oceanic eyes.

Like Sylvia Plath in
death gown, you amble gingerly
to embrace my poems.

The dew drops hang
from the asparagus leaf tips.
I wipe away my tears.