Poetry

There was a silky assault
by a gray cloud over the sickle moon
and I went crazy.


Moon said I will come again
for the glittering makeup
when the curtain are drawn.

Indelible tattoos on my breast
will haunt you whole night.
You must suck the stars meanwhile.


Come March, I will shower the
blue stains on your shirt.
It will remind you the number of nights
you slept with me.

Satish Verma