LIPS ON FIRE

Sometimes the ice burns, 
a fish moves in your eyes. 

The ubiquity was at lowest level, 
nothing was visible in sun. 

Mission crawl in the crotch 
does not find any fever. 

The golden cave has caved in. 
Moon will find another sky. 

Nerves were green, pain was 
black. No mercy for hooks. 

Your map was here and my stitches. 
Let us see, who tells the lie.

Satish Verma