Categories
Poetry Monster

Singing Darkness by Satish Verma

In hirsute adolescence 
a narcissist climbs 
the breast and becomes 
a graveyard of moons. 

Talking of marginality, 
a hole in the chest 
ejects a secret of peachy skin 
when wind was selling sex. 

Most corrupt was me 
always telling truth about the 
warm eggs of chaotic legs 
who will not climb down the street.

Satish Verma

Leave a Reply

This site uses User Verification plugin to reduce spam. See how your comment data is processed.