Poetry

A volcanic kiss
was becoming ungreen.
The shark was coming.

All night it was raining.
The sap was rising
and love-farm was deluged.

A blue moon
walks on the dry eyes.
Why the tears had gone to exile?

A mole was growing
on the face,
while a smile was sitting outside.

When I woke up
into her arms, the moon
was blith and round.

Satish Verma