Scarf On Head

Tangled clues with sensuous sparring; the incense was rising from the blue moon. It was body’s integrity, a lender was demanding when lust had become prodigal. Behind the thin veil, red eyes stared unblinkingly at the portrait of a nude zero. When the light was nodding from a crown the darkness spat on the feet which walked on the roses. A single thorn will not be envious of the licking fingers. A drop of blood will tell the truth. Satish Verma