Styes

It was a searing moment in grueling heat of your flesh, the racist attack had come to surface, the blue eyes, edible gold, in nights the pink veil of the moon, I will cut my wrist to pour out the pure vermillion; a huge umbrella of hot kisses dissolving the contaminated beads of musk, like fever; the smoke rolls down the hills of collective guilt, an anonymous warning; the frozen voice opens like a black tulip on baby ice, down under goes the sun. SATISH VERMA