The body is a garment.
It is burning.
Her hands are empty.
My hands are in her hands.
We are on fire.
Where am I?
Vahni Capildeo, from “Seven Nights in Transit,” Measures of Expatriation
(via lifeinpoetry)
Published
The body is a garment.
It is burning.
Her hands are empty.
My hands are in her hands.
We are on fire.
Where am I?
(via lifeinpoetry)
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