Henna …
You boil in the dark
A silent pain.
Its very memory
breaking my veins,
blood rushes down the precipitous pass
Abysmal silences,
bind the feet of Alps,
tears apart the brain of kisses.
On the ancient curtains of Grats ,
the salt-chewing priest,
dipping in wax,
devours the eyes of dreams.
A finger decked with uterine blood
gropes for the sweaty nipples.
One orphaned embrace,
the condemned corpse’s
worms eat up
The question unasked in the midst of coitus;
pervades the rotting brain..
Henna ..
Before the candles of the last birthday burn out
why, the one, in the red books in and out,
the frozen girl, her thumbs tied up ...
to summer-hued mountains;
thrown up.
Why?
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