Poems from sara.mouzahem
To my palm sweating, nerve crashing whore:
Storms aren’t always what they may perceived to be
A devotion your yellow aura may reach in...
My eyes split black wood into one another
Of flowers between faultless squares
They’re flexible enough to be enemies of my plots...
Waves create circles that signify the triangles above
They finally seperate
From the left
From the right
She shoots up
Her white...
Her eyes lift gravity
created within her hands
I allow her to loop
Push me into reverse and the trail
continues with my gratitude
My...
I become absent minded of the speed
Creeping on the clouds
They pour on my dome, only to dilate
Central station taught me not to...