I love her like an open orifice,
Seeping my secrets in low.
But is it too slow –
For the water to rise off the ice?
May be,
As, I have an open heart
That she can read;
And like a naïve art
I do bleed,
In and out
Every day.
It perspires through my brow.
© rakesh k pandey
(13.4.2013)
