the midnight at target shooting
making away of yourself.
The morning smells coming from
I cannot believe my
The blue night abusing
the white moon –
in a sizzling sky.
I will keep your name
on the brink, before
I jump into fire.
What was the secret of the
lovers, who left their belongings
before disappearing into dark woods?
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Comments about this poem (COMING OUT by Satish Verma )
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