For Whom The Moon Spills?

It was a sane apology,
for not forgetting you.
Concealing your tears,
you come to land
in my poems.

You are crazy―
trying to teach bloodless affinity
with milkweed butterflies.

I think of not anyone else,
when I am thoughtless.
You creep into my veins like
cobra love.

The scream remains trapped
between sharp teeth.
I eject the mercy of venom.

And I step down as
trooper of Magenta.

You throw me the rope to cross the river.

Satish Verma