When The Smoke Rises

Writing poems
on your lips,
fearlessly compromising
the Venus.

The pink, female
moonlets, trying to
stitch a womb.

I start a countdown
to launch,
a death paramour.
My severed hand
holds a yellow rose.

Preserving the―
half skull of artificial
intelligence, living
without you.

Meet me again
on the crossroads.
I want to change
the gender with you.

Reviews

[Laconic Meraki]

I see myself in parts of this poem.
"As the smoke rises- she says goodbye to the naive girl she used to be. Again- she rises" .

Good write.