He was like an autumn wind
that came in my life
brushed against my skin
played with my hair
and then...
slipped past
to play with another.
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i do not write poetry; i take words and dip them in feelings...
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passion. lust. the fire.
she watched him from across the room he was with a woman whispering something in her ear and the woman laughed. she desired him evidently, ...
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Literature by Arti Honrao is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License. unless mentioned otherwise.
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