Poetry

A lamplit page 
that smells your body. 
I still remember the 
cajoling maneuver to give 
me a spin. 
 
Oysters. They were crawling 
to eject the pearls. And 
spiders weaving a net 
to trap my thoughts. A 
fly lands in the labyrinth. 
 
War of attrition. A tremor 
shakes the pillars. Moments 
of disintegration. The fragments 
throw the footprints in 
your hands. 
 
You cannot write your 
name on your book.