On Cloud Nine
Red wines I drink make my cold blood hot red,
flames flow turning neurons wild in my head.
Tongue slithers to utter a word,
legs morph into wings of blind bird.
Hazy garden path on cloud nine I tread.
October 19, 2017
Form : Limerick. Syllable count : 10 10 8 8 10
Copyright © Subimal Sinha-Roy | Year Posted 2017
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