the stars and the moon and the pulse and the pulchritude

by Abish Qamar

a yearn crumbling within a plush skin, ploughing against the mesh of an itch

a child of blossomed wile, a babe of pearly whims

dwelled from the curated old lover of

the stars and the moon and the pulse and the pulchritude

she is a humbled plea crawled, drawled in the niches

of a morgue pliant in its schemes

moulding in her block of deeds bended on broken knees

dampened in the sweat clad palms of grief

behind her bones, amidst the blood of dreams

she is a sailor in the clasp of a lunatic

the metamorphosed form of her caresses

in her arched marrows, mellow foam of the nectar

of her desires curdles in its pulpy remainder

as an encore, a curtain call, an indulging concoction

brewing through and through her aching body

a yearn crumbled within a chaffed skin, threshed against the remains of an itch

a child of blossomed ire, a load of foolish whims

dwelled from the discarded old lover of

the stars and the moon and the pulse and the pulchritude