Poezja

Maligned, the
space between us
lets go the mammary

a flame scoops up the void,
we speak no names,
I carry you in my skinned arms
to the weeds
for seminal mutability;

shipwrecked, i fear of depth
turbulence, I will honor the drop
on the cheeks of sea, green shores

in the night I will walk out of the snare
the gulls will come in a flock


Satish Verma