Obscura

Shall he be the poem?

So let her write.

Ink spills over compliment-puns

it bends & slips - the pen,

sweat knows,

her love is thy pain!

Shall he ponder over the curses?

Let thee wonder among the verses.

Let her spew the ink of venom

thy head in melancholy of circus 

thou shall not lie,

She being the decept phenom

-Deep Raval