Creamy Swipes Poem by Satish Verma
Creamy Swipes
The virgin moon
and young lover―
talking in hushed tones.
The speed was the
limit of suspended
economy of wood pecking.
Sap suckers abound
on the pretext of exploring
the depth of resistance.
My bones were your
enemy, your flesh was
my temple.
I will bring daffodils
when sun sits
and night falls.
Thursday, January 19, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/10/2024 6:48:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
