Dorothy Perkins,
when I saw you the first time
by that misty subway lane
you reminded me of the
white wild lilly by the Alps valley
shinning silently at her
flamboyant modesty.
The blink of your eyes
suddenly made more sense
to me then the blinking
of the cursor with which I type.
Like the water on the lotus petal,
the glance of your face
depleted all the toxic
in my psyche.
Then I asked you,
“Girl, do you have a name ?”
You said, “Dorothy Perkins.”
And my heart started to linger
in the hope that
this poem will sell.
It is utter limerence here.
diary of a vagabond 