SuperRare

it is cold

I measure the distances between the bones
with paper metres.
it's easier to tear centimetres
between two points on the globe.

under the eyelids,
I break the winds of the broken windows.
I tie my hands in knots around my knees.

they are blistered,

these figures of imaginary embraces.
and disappear without a sound,
like broken porcelain.

I plastered the walls with feathers.

it is cold.

Self-portrait and nature photographer/ in love with poetry of light and words https://linktr.ee/dani_phstories

Editorial Cartoonist. Visual Artist. 
https://twitter.com/satishacharya
linktr.ee/cartoonistsatish