In/tactile

In no bleeds
of blue on sheets
in no carves
of his name
he is
rather, in caress form.

Somewhere In the Arches

Of what is architecture
if bare of arches and jharokhas
of  braided bricks,
left to plastered skin

The Vamp

of what is me, if not you.

A wreck you abandoned
on the barren shoreland.