Poezja

The primal urge to undo―
your hair. I am going
crazy.
 
It ends at beginning.
A rite of passage to nakedness
of soul, when you have
nothing to hide.
 
The master cell, has flipped
over, after you squeezed
its belly. The tasteless sphagnum
was out.
 
The hunger stands at your door.
Wants the bread of pride.
Will you stop the clock
and go for timeless?
 
I had lighted the incense
sticks. One for you and
one for God.