A bed, is what it's called
A solid piece of wonder,
Heartily holding my body and soul.
Oh if it would be an offense,
Mind not, one with his brows curved.
For I call her, 'The centre of my trade',
Where I trade with her,
The cobwebs of ceaseless chaos
And she escapes me into
A world so promisingly lunatic.
And unlike what's seen or heard,
Like snakes she wraps me from around
And crawl into the entireness of
Everything that touches me
And makes me believe in
the beauty of being poisoned
In the liveliness of my timeless trance!

© Neena Baby Mundackal