Indica is a goddess, dressed in green She visits me in visions bathed in smoke Such fantasies appear before they’re seen An invocation needed to invoke
The call of buds she bears is heard by those Who listen to the songs she hums aloud And yes, she is aware, Indica knows Such songs are those of which she can be proud
The pride of sweet Indica draws me in To places she invites me with commands Dichotomy is not her only sin And yet by this she issues sweet demands
The goddess named Indica has a voice That likes to make you think you have a choice.
This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 24th, 2024 at 1:43 pm and is filed under Sonnets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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