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For Whom The Moon Spills?
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Satish Verma 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.
