By Saronik Bosu
The bougainvillea
like so much
of Sylvia Plath’s blood
shall lurk
within your
sentences.
Sometimes the trellis
will couch your clauses
in comfort, yes.
But
often, bless you,
your verbs
your breathless verbs
shall find their ire
in its thorn and fire
Saronik Bosu is pursuing a Ph.D. in English at New York University. Although he has been writing poetry for a very long time, he has begun sending his work for publication only very recently. He has been published in a couple of magazines such as the Contemporary Literary Review India and the Minetta Review. He is presently engaged in completing a collection of short essays in verse. His interests include literary representations of money, curvilinear architecture, self-deprecating comedy, and big, fluffy dogs. He will be very gratified if you let him know what you think of his heavily filtered pictures @saronikos on Instagram.