A Full Moon Over our Secret Headquarters
The full moon becomes our religion
Watch the fold in the clouds, that is us
And if they shall search for us
Amongst our secret headquarters
Cuddled together sharing Egg Biryani
What are those stars, trapped behind obese trees?
The wind blows at our tent, our lockdown
Trying to infiltrate our codes
To steal away our dance
And leave our footprints to be discovered by the gods.
The river wants us too – It sways in a vulgar ballet Then dies off against the dam.
Your scarf and dress left in a ruinous insult in the mud Left to be panicky, dizzy, separated, and severed alone – In the grass.
How can I relocate our flames?
To dwell in the hum of purring Collect our wings from the cheap magician And terminate the spell.
A grandiose full moon smothers
With its clouds
Even after promising heaven behind the dark curtains – That was us.
Photo by Kenrick Mills (unsplash)