You
Your words...

The poem
holds shabbily...

Christened Ganesha
an age old tusker...

My smallish playground
is with grasses worn out...

Not every morning
witnesses...

Don't fritter away an entire winter
staring out of your pensive window...

Rummaging through the ruins,
I recover you, lifeless...

Every room in Aunt Kelly's home
is a regular hexahedron...

The vapor sacks
dwelling places of my clairvoyant thoughts...

She'd sky-dive with succulent drops,
frolic upon leaves of a rare foliage...