Poetry folds me in her arms

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Poetry folds me in her arms. 
I diffuse in the lap of her words
and wake from slumber
with lavender smile cheekbones,
and embellished fingertips,
cottage skies of infinite letters and blank spaces.
Some parts of me are alphabets,
and some vowels.
I wear letters like expensive jewels
and spill milk white secrets,
With few colons dispersed in the complexity of delusional life,
unfolding and fabricating rise and fall.
Thin sheets of clouds hover inside my conscience,
and guide me to wake up from my slumber.
Poetry folds me in her arms,
cradles me
and I am sanctified. Besides being numb.

-Shreya Sharma

By Shreya Sharma

I read poems. Sometimes I write poems. And when I am doing nothing, I am sipping coffee.

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