Dairy Arms

My arms stroke absurdly,
Absentmindedly, the heads
Of people are like grammar.
This is an abbey of faults,
My objection makes clear,
Then the effort of existence is made.
Custody is a selfish sort,
Let the cutlery be known after an art
Of some knowledge, the very noise.
Customs play more than the cushion,
Dairy products sting the tongue.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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