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Taken from my collection 'Lines'.


For how many years has that cigarette

Perched on the edge

Of your shadowed hollow?


Sandpaper stubble

Over the crevices

Of you sun-stained skin.


Intermittent whitened lines

Sprout from your scalp

Between childhood tones.


Your hairline gives birth

To a scored furrow;

Forehead’s ridges sliced.


Below, two vertical folds,

Embossed by two brows

Drawn together in moments of fire.


Splintered fractures of the eye

Signal a squint, laboured

By the star of the Med.


The glazed glass within,

Still impenetrable,

Like the lens through which I see you now.


Anyway, why are you staring at me?

© 2015 By Pria Rai. Proudly created with Wix.com