Satish Verma
Collecting Milkweed
I will not understand
the gift of hurting
in unsolicited encounters.
Will chase you around
the world,
without arriving.
O fear, my bread;
cannot feel you, unbirthing.
Life gives me many stitches.
A parallel face mocks
in the sky, unless the moon
cries for the kiss.
Wooden wheels move on
the laid body. Your venomous
tooth I break.
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