COLLECTING MILKWEED

I will not understand
the gift of hurting
in unsolicited encounters.

Will chase you around
the world,
without arriving.

O fear, my bread;
cannot feel you, unbirthing.
Life gives me many stitches.

A parallel face mocks
in the sky, unless the moon
cries for the kiss.

Wooden wheels move on
the laid body. Your venomous
tooth I break.

Satish Verma