10 july 2019
The Sorcery
I can do it, hold the wasp
in my palm― without grains
and short of fructose.
Layer by layer eggs
will leak― wetting
the vibrating stigma.
Neat abuses, will suck
the milk of nodding thistle.
No marrow comes out to save the elixir.
The hoofers, without
stirrups were running blindly
after the fallen apple.
The sage sways sadly
in the passive winds. It’s aroma
enters the stream of sex.
5 may 2024
Poetic JusticeSatish Verma
4 may 2024
N1absynt
4 may 2024
Izerska rzekakalik
4 may 2024
0405wiesiek
4 may 2024
Suffering Was RightSatish Verma
3 may 2024
M1absynt
3 may 2024
0305wiesiek
3 may 2024
I Was LostSatish Verma
1 may 2024
DogmaticallySatish Verma
30 april 2024
Justice PureSatish Verma