Poetry

My palm, 
collects the dark energy. 
Reversing the code, I 
am not going for a big crunch! 
 
Who wants to reclaim 
the thunder from the spent 
cloud? A pristine pure, 
hot and wetted moon, 
 
will never decide the fate. 
Tonight I am going to drift 
intentionally towards the 
antigravity. Your eyes are 
 
going to become epicenter 
of a quake. A desire had 
hundred moons. The galaxy 
was vast and deep. The 
 
world was still revolving 
around the phallic symbols, 
altering the walking pace 
of the ruins.