creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings


I rinse
in the leftovers
of your smell, waiting for you
in the everlasting darkness.

For sometimes
I ache for you:
a perfect amalgamation
of flesh and tender bones
that must have bathed
in a rain of fire in her afterlives.

In morning your slither into our bed in that black dress of yours burning the dichotomy of the dissolved night and the receding day.

I then kiss, make love and regret nothing
like the human who discovered fire.

© Shashank Bhardwaj


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