Come here with romance of liss and my tears will lean on you.
Before you ask me what I really feel just undress me and count my scars so that you be able to sew.
Unlike many, you’ll feel a girl with no enticing collarbone,
vincible breasts and body as almost decayed.
Feel free to shower the cascade of your offenses but do not masquerade.
In every page of my black diary you’ll find a sketch of a withered leaf at the bottom.
Many years will pass but I will succumb to understand who’s the real man of autumn?
I tell you hours with me are no less than watching carcasses in front of your charismatic eyes.
Touch my breath or live in them but I’m always going to rhapsodise your concealed cries.
Words that flow from my soul may make you feel seriously fragile.
Maneuver my taciturnity so that it feels easy to act agile.
An apocalypse touched me once and
coerced me to feel not so far and not so near.
Piercing feels better now if you are here not to create haven but stab me to stuck once again somewhere in between out of fear.
Like the thorns in a rose, don’t be the wellhead behind all the burns in me.
Like a soothsayer in an orb,
be a body of both love and lust who knows how to absorb all the disparities in me.
~ B. Farhaj Jebin