02 March, 2024

Yesterday not Today

Your salt hurts me.
My twisted fingers search your
wet eyes. Moon remains blind.

Ah the navel of the snake,,
was beautiful, when it climbs your chest. Oh
Cleopatra will take a wash of two hundred milks.

The thorns will invite
you to kiss the roses. After some time
they will be spread over the tomb of a poet.

Satish Verma

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