Trees cover her
in red lured by
the skirts in Prague.
There is grass that
grows: (while sharks mourn
the larks of some vermilion lips)
high-heels. They stir
waters. Birds. When
the turn of cars
stops the parting
of punk pink people she recalls Dad:

how he would curl
by the world's need
of blurbs on dark
skies and stars-walk
the park with wide open umbrellas.

Lesbian. Sir,
she's a girl lo-
ver. Blurts out far
from Father who,
stopped fishing. Since Fish don't talk. Awful.

*(a variation of the Burmese poetry form)

Afrodita Nikolova

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/yadu/