Preface
Between life and death
a photo finish race
will decide the relationship.
There was intoxication
at heights. Your throat had
become hoarsed, sliced
after a scream. Matchsticks
were thrust in the
gnawed mound of kneaded
flour. The kitchen
was going to explode.
Barehands you were
picking the black beans;
parting me lip by lip
caressing me thumb by thumb.
Satish Verma
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment