
Blow Dry Love
Nudged by a poetic, low sun,
Considering a visit to girlfriend,
He felt the face-cupping air…
Suddenly whipped, of late November.
Squirming in a tightening vice,
Cold but strangely kiss-like,
He realized,
Left to its malicious will,
Suck all love… cold will!
The city shook like an autumn leaf,
Then kept for a minute still,
Feeling in its bones
A seeping chill.
On that day of chapped lips,
None in the city could kiss,
Stuck as if in a dreadful dream,
Too late to benefit from cream.
– Bolbul
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