Striking A Bargain

Eyes shut,
under the shade of sun, when you
cast in gold, I run after
the blue butterflies hiding
behind the flames.

In uncanny sense feels your presence,
words cannot describe. When
will you swap your lips
with my tears?

Make me forget the cleaver
the thuds of the closing door.
I don't seek a blueberry moon―
of your native harvest.

At equinox you disrobe a
wound. I bleed inside
the ruins. Sun does not suck the sap.
I become innocent.

Satish Verma