Death sits in wait
in the empty valley
of your sleeper cell.
The confession of a guilt
liberates the funeral
of a martyr.
Give me your breasts
for a modular test.
Don’t let the milk go waste.
Your pearly teeth
were biting negativity of the red
chilli of dark sex
before the sunrise
in a kingdom of debris
of long names.
Satish Verma
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