BEAUTY OF PAIN

Behind your face 
was cleaver 
releasing past poem. 

The sensual milk 
flows from the palm 
into your lake. 

Grieving for 
the torn wings of pink 
light. 

Cruising on thighs 
with eyes closed 
death utters a shriek. 

The eternal flame 
closes on pollen 
to tell a lie.

Satish Verma