Poetry from Sayani Mukherjee

Skin

The fallen leaves of ashen branches
The dark corridors of witchhours of Soho
I call back my divine spree
My nebulous skin opens forth 
As it did with the wildly sights 
The passengers come forth
The dark train leaps forth
The tulle disk hour is gone
For it braids within the nightmarish high
The evening skies that simmered through
For the deadly hours run by
As the daisies open forth
As the Lilacs spread their lofty wings sky high. 

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